


love, I have wounds only you can mend

by sansaravenclaw



Series: something wicked this way comes [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Elia Martell Lives, F/M, Jon Snow Comes Back Wrong, Jon and Sansa are Cousins, Light Angst, POV Multiple, Rhaegar is bad, Romance, Sansa is very anxious, Sansa talks to herself a lot, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2020-03-20 13:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaravenclaw/pseuds/sansaravenclaw
Summary: Her hands were still cold, as if Jon’s fingers were still holding her. As she waited for Catelyn to pick up, the sky outside started getting dark. Soon, it would start to rain.He’s gonna be just fine.For some reason, she was having trouble believing that.





	1. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I had this idea in my mind for a while now and decided maybe it was worth posting. I’ve been obsessing with the whole “came back wrong” trope and wanted to experiment writing with that in mind. This is the first time I’ve ever published one of my works so fingers crossed everything goes smoothly. After a lot of pep talking myself, I finally wrote this first chapter. And then rewrote it like three times. I think it’s finally in a way I can be proud of, but we’ll see. I have a plan for this story but I’m not sure I’m gonna go through with it. It depends mostly on the feedback and also on my personal life.  
> English is not my first language so I’m pretty sure there’ll be a few mistakes out there, I tried my best to correct everything before posting but I’ll read again later this week and see if I can make it better. I really hope you guys enjoy!  
> (the title is from the song can't pretend, by tom odell)

It was common knowledge amongst the old northern families that the Stark women possessed magic in their blood. A long time ago, since even before the days of Aegon the conqueror, the Stark women worked alongside the children of the forest, providing healing and fortune for those who would dare to seek their abilities. Of course, as time went on and society began to evolve and reject the ways of old, the Stark decided that it was best to become more secretive of their powers, and soon, magic became a long kept family secret, only taught to those who wish to use their abilities for a good cause, and even then, only between closed doors, within the safety of their inner circle.

 

Unfortunately, that didn't prevent Lyanna Stark from being a victim of the desire of a powerful man, Rhaegar Targaryen, who wished to use Lyanna’s abilities to obtain more power and more wealth for himself and his family. The Targaryens were known to meddle with blood magic, and Lyanna soon became a casualty of their dark ways. Or at least that’s what Ned Stark told his wife when he brought home baby Jon, Lyanna’s boy, whom he had sworn to protect from the wrath of the wicked Rhaegar. As the man was still clearly distraught by the death of his sister, Catelyn did not wish to upset her husband any further, and that was why she accepted the babe into their home, even though she feared that his mother’s fate would one day come back to haunt them all.

 

Catelyn Stark was first Catelyn Tully, and she would always be a Tully in her blood. Therefore, she did not possess any magic in her bones, and as most non magic folks, she was afraid of it. That was why Catelyn hoped none of her daughters would ever wish to learn the ways of magic. Witchcraft, as she called it, would not be tolerated in her household, but as the gods are always testing our faith, her youngest daughter was eager to learn from the moment she made her first toy fly across the room just by looking at it. And Ned was thrilled by the idea, demanding the training to begin as soon as possible - of course he was, he saw so much of Lyanna in her, sometimes even called her by his sister’s name, and Catelyn would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little bit resentful of how much a man could miss a ghost - so she complied out of love for him. The youngling begin training at an early age of five, always too eager, too reckless and too willing to give herself entirely to her abilities. Catelyn's heart grew tighter and tighter, and as the years went by her trips to the sept became more frequent as she prayed to all seven, even the Stranger, that no harm should ever come to her baby girl.

 

Her eldest daughter, however, was much too obedient and compliant and eager to please, so she learn no such things growing up. Sansa Stark was the spitting image of her mother, with the same Tully red hair and blue eyes, and she was also all grace and kindness and the perfect child. Catelyn hoped that would mean the girl had no relation to magic, but Sansa was a Stark, and all the Stark women possessed a great power inside them, whether they chose to embrace it or not. Aware of how much worry and hate the subject rouse in Catelyn, Sansa never learned the old ways, never practiced a spell and never gave in to the true extent of her abilities. Instead, she learned how to sew, how to cook, and how to sing, and she helped her little brothers with their homework, and designed the most beautiful gowns on her sketchbook, read all the romance novels she could find, and if she ever felt a little sad every time her sister would learn a new spell she made sure her mother never knew. She convinced herself she was perfectly fine with being just a normal girl, thank you very much.

 

But Sansa was still a Stark, and in her case that meant that whenever she felt sad it would rain all day, and all the flowers she bought or won from her suitors would take ages to die, as would her plants, and some nights she would have the weirdest dreams that made her wake up at three in the morning with her heart beat going wild and her skin as cold as ice. Usually after those dreams something bad would happen, like that time when she was six and her big brother broke his arm in a fight at school, or that time when she was fifteen and her dog Lady got hit by a truck at the beach and she cried so much she thought she would die. Or even that awful time that she doesn't like to think about when her father and her younger brother were in a car accident and Bran’s legs stopped working, and even though she had nothing to do with it she still blames herself a little because she had one of those dreams and that always meant something bad would happen. She hadn’t told anyone about it and Bran got hurt and her daddy almost died and why is she even having these dreams in the first place? She’s not a witch, never was and never would be, so she told Catelyn about it and her mom told her not to worry, it was no one’s fault, it was just a dream.

 

So Sansa kept quiet, like she always did, and for the next five years she stayed quiet, even when she had dreams like that, and when the rain mimicked her moods and her plants never seemed to die. It was because of that denial that when Sansa woke at three am, body ice cold, heart beat crazy, a phantom of a scream still stuck on her throat, she just turned around and told herself to go back to sleep. In the morning she would get dressed for work and try to remember what the dream was about, but she would not be able to. And even if she wanted to text her mom, or her dad, or her big brother, she would absolutely not do it.

 

_It was just a dream, right?_

 

She kept telling herself that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later when Sansa awoke to pee it was still dark and she had no intention of staying out of bed for more than 15 minutes. It was the first saturday in a long time that she had absolutely nowhere to be, and she enjoyed that for a minute, only to notice her phone screen blinking repeatedly. There was exactly six missed calls on her cellphone, including one from her little sister Arya, along with 32 unread text messages, which were mainly from the family group chat that she never bothered to check much. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand, and as she read “5:30 AM” her heart jumped to an unsteady beat. Her thoughts flew to her father, thinking that his heart might have finally gave out, like it was meaning to do after the accident all those years ago, and that she would’ve been asleep when it happened, and that she’d have no time to get to him before his passing, and that her last words to him would’ve been a simple “bye, take care” over a phone call that took place sometime in the past two weeks.

 

A shaky thumb unlocked her phone and started scrolling through the messages. First, it was the group chat, to which she found out it was not her father who was hurt but Robb and Jon. They had gotten into a car accident coming back from an office party at 2 in the morning, and the ambulance had taken them both to St. Mary’s. Her heart had tightened in her chest and for ten whole seconds she could not breathe until her vision steadied and she was able to read her mom’s next message on the screen.

 

**Robb’s fine, just a small cut on the head and a bruised shoulder. I’m with him right now, getting stitched up. Jonathan’s in surgery still. Your father and the boys are home with Miss O. I’ll call when there’s an update.**

 

Relieve and guilt took over her, and it was what she needed to be fully awake and in control of her nerves. She was ashamed of being so relieved her brother was ok, but that was the truth, she had a deeper connection with Robb even if Jon had grew up with them as a sibling. That did not mean that she didn’t care about him, though. She did care. Maybe a little more than she would let herself admit. But there was no time to be having those kind of thoughts now.

 

Closing up the group chat, she then proceeded to open Arya’s texts, surprised that her sister had even bothered to reach out. They hadn’t spoken since the incident at Christmas and Sansa was not about to be the upper person this time. It was always like this with her and Arya, always fighting and making up later, Sansa being the one to give in every time, but this time was different and it had been two months of cold silences and avoiding each other whenever Sansa would have time to drive up to Sunday’s family lunch.

 

**He’s out of surgery but hasn’t woken up.**

**Mom’s taking Robb home to rest.**

**I’m going to the hospital.**

**I don’t want to be alone.**

**Please come.**

 

The last one was sent at five, and Sansa’s reply of “ _be there in 15, tell mom._ ” was met almost instantly with a simple “ _ok_ ”. So even though she was still tired from last night’s shenanigans at Mya’s house, Sansa Stark got up, changed her pajamas into the most put together but comfortable outfit she could find at an early hour and rushed out of her apartment, pushing all her crushing feelings down and repeating to herself like a mantra: _he’s gonna be fine._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa walked hurriedly through the corridors of St. Mary’s Hospital, barely taking in all the beautiful art pieces that hung over the west wing. It was a fine, prestigious place that accommodated over 450 hospital beds, possessing all the major critical units that a good hospital could need for, and even had it’s on diagnostic center, located not far away from were Sansa was heading right now. At full speed, her white flats more than once slipped against the white tile floor, but she did not stop moving until she caught sight of her sister, standing alone in a full black outfit, looking through the massive windows that allowed a view of the hospital’s nicely cared for gardens.

 

Arya’s hair was pulled up in a high ponytail that look far from proper and she smiled a little at the sight of her sister. A weak smile, but still, with her eyes bloodshot and her hands holding what Sansa assumed to be her third cup of coffee in a short amount of time, it was a surprise that Arya was able to show any emotions that weren’t anger or unsettledness. The smile on her lips faded quickly and she resumed her staring at the gardens, her body stiffening a little once Sansa got close enough for a hugh. She pretended not to notice that, and instead, reached a hand to grab at her sister’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

Sansa stood quietly for a few moments, uncertain of what to do next. In her hurry to get to the hospital, she hadn’t thought about the awkwardness that might occur once she and Arya were on the same place together, without their mother or father to serve as a buffer between the two of them. Sansa had just started making a mental list of safe topics for discussion when her sister’s lips started moving.

 

“You can go see him if you want to. I was there until a few minutes ago. He’s not awake yet, and there’s a bunch of machines hooked onto him...I thought it wouldn’t be hard for me to face it alone after dad and Bran but seeing him like this… I mean, he looks dead, Sans. I know he’s not. But he could’ve been. The doctors said it was close.”

 

Sansa didn’t know what to say. She understood it, of course she did. After spending weeks going to the hospital everyday waiting for Bran to wake up, only to later find out he would never walk again, the Stark family was more than reasonably wary of hospitals. Arya’s reaction was completely understandable and expected, and yet Sansa rarely saw her sister looking so vulnerable. Taken by an instant surge of sisterly protection, she wrapped her arms tightly around Arya’s small frame, giving her a gentle but firm squeeze.

 

“He’s gonna be fine, you’ll see. Jon’s a tough guy.”

 

A few seconds later Sansa felt her sister’s tiny hands wrap around her body, and after what it felt like a lifetime she thought she heard the tiniest of sniffs coming from the small girl’s body. Arya started shaking a little and Sansa said nothing, only held her tighter against her chest, resting her chin lightly on top of Arya’s head. She knew Arya loved Jon as a brother, even referred to him as so. All her siblings did. Only Sansa kept her distance growing up, always aware of Catelyn’s disapproving stare of the boy, even though she never really could figure out why. Still, Sansa knew her mother was happier whenever she stayed away from Jon and stay away she did, even if he was kind and didn’t pick on her like Robb or Theon -who had  pretty much grew up at the Stark’s house even if the Greyojoy state was less than 5 miles away- so Sansa kept her distance and as she grew older and Arya progressed with her magic, Sansa found herself more and more alone. The boys all gushed over Arya’s abilities, encouraging her, and in exchange she was included in their games. Truth be told, Sansa sometimes believed that her siblings considered Jon more their kin than herself. And that hurt, but only a little. She had her mom, after all, and her sewing and her singing and her books, and even if sometimes she wished she could truly have a sister to share her feelings with, she resigned herself with the fact that they loved Jon more and preferred him and that was that. There wasn't a single thing she could do about it now, as a 23 year old woman, so she tried her best to comfort her sister and ignore the small part of her brain that wondered if Arya would be this upset if it was her lying on that hospital bed. _Of course she would be, you’re her sister. She loves you._

 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. I made sure of it.”

 

Arya’s words were muffed against Sansa’s chest so she thought she might have heard wrong. _What does she mean she made sure?_ She pushed her sister slightly away, and Arya quickly dried her eyes with the back of her hand. Looking into her sister’s eyes, Sansa knew something was not right. Arya looked like she had just been caught on a lie.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Arya deflected as much as she could.

 

“Nothing, look, why don’t you go in to see him while I’ll go grab another coffee - decaf for me this time I promise - and I'll meet you inside. Do you want something? I take it you didn't have time to eat anything before you left home.”

 

Sansa watched Arya with suspicious eyes. Something was off, but she was not about to push. Even if they just had a moment, the tension over their argument at Christmas was still very present and she had no intention of starting another fight with her emotional caffein driven baby sister. Instead, Sansa just answered with a nod and a _“don’t forget the cream and sugar”_ to which Arya rolled her eyes at and turned around to go to the cafeteria. Before going to far, she turned back and looked at Sansa’s face.

 

“Oh, he’s in room 137. It’s the second door to your left, just down the hall.”

 

Sansa stood there and watched her sister’s small frame disappear through a big set of glass doors. Breathing nervously, she turned around to face the hallway, and let out a shaky breath. _You can to this. He’s gonna be just fine._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jon looked far from fine.

 

In fact, he looked positively awful. There was a cut on his face so big that Sansa had no idea how he still had his eye. His right hand was bandaged up from being burned badly. _Did the car catch on fire?_ His chest was all stitched up, covered in white bandages, and she could tell he had had an open chest surgery. In addition to that, multiple small cuts were spread all over his body, probably from shattered glass, and he was as pale as the sheet covering his lower half. He looked...dead, and Sansa was pretty sure if it wasn’t for the heart monitor attached to him showing a slow but steady beat, she would've thought he was dead for real. Her chest tightened at the clear image that appeared in her head. A black coffin, father’s somber face, Arya’s tears, white flowers, Jon so pale in his dark suit. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. _He’s alive, idiot. He’s gonna be fine._ And still, a wicked feeling took over her, like she knew their problems were just beginning, She remembered her sister’s words. _This wasn’t supposed to happen, I made sure of it._

 

Where the heck was Arya anyway?

 

She silently hoped that her sister would get back soon. It wasn’t that Sansa minded being alone with Jon. He was always kind, and loved her food and was always considerate of her opinion at family meetings, unlike her father or Robb. But there was something about this Jon, this half dead pale as fuck - _language, Sansa_ \- Jon that was making her feel uneasy. Standing at arms length of the bed, she looked at his hand, the one that wasn’t wrapped up in bandages, and wondered if she could touch it. _Of course you can touch him, he’s family, what in the world is wrong with you today? Get it together._

 

Stepping closer, she reached out her fingers and touched his hand. It was freezing cold. He was freezing cold, and that thought made her more uneasy. She looked at the monitor again, the heart beat still there, even a little faster now. _Don’t be silly, of course he’s alive._ She sat at the edge of the bed, her hips slightly brushing his. She could feel his cold skin even through the sheets and she shivered. Unsure of what to do, Sansa wrapped up both her hands around his and shut her eyes. She made a silent prayer to the seven, thanking them for sparing Jon’s life. And then, even though it was not her custom, she made a prayer to the old gods as well, to the trees with faces and the children of the forest, asking for protection over Jon. Her hands held onto him tightly, so lost in her thoughts she did not notice the monitor’s beat going up.

 

When Sansa opened her eyes, it was to find Jon staring back at her and for a minute she stopped breathing. His eyes were a dark grey, almost black, as they always had been, but the warmth she had grown accustomed to seeing in there was gone. His eyes were fixated on her, and he did not speak or made any attempts to remove his hand from her hold. Sansa’s throat was suddenly very dry.

 

“Hey” she said, immediately hating the way her voice sounded, almost unsure, as if she was afraid. _What are you afraid of? It’s Jon._ “You’re awake.”

 

“Hey.”

 

His voice was low, and he said nothing else. They both stayed in silence for a while, Sansa now very aware of the fact that she was still holding his hand. She wondered if she should drop it.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“You had an accident.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Jon’s eyes finally left hers and started gazing around the room, taking in his surroundings. He lowered his gaze to his burnt hand, lifting it up slightly, flexing his fingers as much as he could. He then turned his eyes to their intertwined hands. Blushing, Sansa quickly made move to let go, but he closed his fingers around her hand, holding her with a firm grip. It wasn’t painful in the slightest and yet she felt herself wondering if his cold fingers would leave a mark on her.

 

“What happened?”

 

“You and Robb were coming back from a party last night and there was a crash, you don’t remember? He’s okay, just a minor concussion, but you had to go into surgery. We were waiting for you to wake up.”

 

She noted he seemed confused, as if trying to make sure of what she’d just said. Did he not remember the accidente? Was his head ok? _Why is he still holding my hand?_ She tried not to read too much into it, but the wicked feeling grew stronger as Jon stared back into her eyes. She was just about to ask him if he was in any pain or point out that it was not very polite to stare when the room’s door opened and Arya walked in holding a paper cup in her hands.

 

“Yes , I know it took forever but they were out of cream so I had to- Jon!”

 

Arya raced to the bed, dropping the coffee cup on Sansa’s lap, almost causing an accident, as she threw herself on Jon. Although his chest was pretty wounded, he didn’t seem to mind the extra weight, almost as if he wasn’t feeling any pain at all. He wrapped up his right arm around Arya, his burned hand caressing her back. His left hand still hadn’t let go of Sansa’s.

 

“Hey you.”

 

“You scared the shit out of me.” Arya whispered softly.

 

Not wanting to intrude anymore than she already was, Sansa made move to get up, and Jon’s hand briefly tightened around hers before letting her go. She stood, and again his eyes were stuck on her, making her whole body shiver. Her hands were cold where his grip had been strongest. Her chest was heavy with worry.

 

“I’ll go call mom, tell her to bring the boys over, they’ll wanna see you. I’ll also see if I can find a doctor to come check on you.”

 

Arya mumbled something against Jon’s chest and he laughed, his eyes still on Sansa. She wanted to ask what was so funny but her throat was still dry and she had a feeling she wouldn’t like the answer. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee, trying to warm herself up, and started heading to the door, grabbing the doorknob to close it on her way out. She could still feel his eyes on her, and fighting against the urge to look back, she closed the door behind her and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Sansa started walking down the hallway, taking another sip of her coffee, even if it wasn’t that warm anymore, and she grabbed her phone to call her mom. Her hands were still cold, as if Jon’s fingers were still holding her. As she waited for Catelyn to pick up, the sky outside started getting dark. Soon, it would start to rain.

 

_He’s gonna be just fine._

 

For some reason, she was having trouble believing that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! If it’s not too much trouble, please leave a comment telling me what you think, if there’s something you would like to see next or whatever. Thank you for the support!


	2. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, that was tough. This chapter demanded more of me than I expected, because I was trying really hard to point out the differences between pre death Jon resurrected Jon. I hope I’ve done him justice. I also felt like I needed to explain a bit of how was life for him growing up, and how is his relationship with the Starks. This is the first time I’ve written a man’s pov and it was quite challenging, so I’m not entirely sure about it. Hope you all enjoy!  
> Once again, my first language is not English and this work is unbetaded, so there’s probably some mistakes I’ve missed. I wanted to post it now so I can focus on some work things I have to do, but I’ll come back later to look for typos and stuff.  
> Thank you to the lovely jonsa warriors on twitter (Anj, Anni, Cami and Mani) who hype me up a lot and help me get my ideas straight.  
> Also, I have no idea how police work is actually done in other countries, so I basically just googled everything and I hope it feels accurate to you all.  
> Enjoy!

First, there was a loud crash, a lot of confusion and screaming, and so, so much pain. There was fear too, though it didn’t last very long. Then, there was nothing. Only darkness and numbness and nothing at all. It was quite peaceful, actually, but somehow it didn’t feel right. Later, he didn’t know how long, there was a voice, and even if he was sure he had never heard such a voice, it sounded familiar to him all the same.

 

_My boy, my sweet boy. Take care of him, please, you have to. He’s my boy, my precious boy, my baby._

 

It sounded so sad, the voice. Broken beyond repair, and if he could feel anything at all he was sure it would be an urge to get to it, to promise it anything he could, just to cure it’s sadness. But he felt nothing, he could not move, he could not see. He could only hear the voice, an unanswered pleading, a murmured chant.

 

_It will never touch him, nothing will ever touch him, he’s safe, he’s protected, nothing will ever touch him, he’s pure and he’ll remain pure. By the powers given to me by my ancestors, he’ll be shielded, he’ll be guarded, he’ll be safe. My baby will be safe._

 

Then it stopped. He could no longer hear the voice, no longer sense it’s sorrows. There was only darkness and it stayed like that forever, until he no longer remembered it, no longer remembered his own name. There was only the dark and he felt nothing, there was nothing at all. And it went on forever.

 

He hadn’t known how long had passed. Maybe it was years, a whole century, or maybe it was just minutes. Time didn’t matter in the darkness, nothing did. But it started to feel cold, and soon it was so cold he longed for the nothingness from before. Nothing was better than cold. The cold hurt. It was so cold it burned. He lost himself in the cold, and he tried to remember the voice, tried to remember his name, but only the cold came to him. And it stayed.

 

The heat came much later, but it came. It was faint at first, barely there, but it came from his left, yes, there was heat on his left, and he had a left because he was something. He was something and even if he believed he was nothing there was still heat on his left and he could feel it. He could feel something other than the cold that still lingered. The heat was there and he could feel it better now, he could even smell it, and if he could feel and smell he could also be. And he was. He was something, someone. A boy. No, not a boy, a man. But once a boy. And suddenly he knew he was her boy, the voice’s baby boy, and he wanted to tell her he was there. He was fine. He was alive. Yes, he was alive, he was someone, and he had a name.

 

_His name is Jon._

 

He opened his eyes. Everything was bright, everything was real. It felt too much, and he longed for the nothingness again, where he was once at peace. He was so cold, everything was cold, except his left. His left was heat, and it was red and it smelled so sweet. He was not alone, there was salvation, she was salvation. She opened her eyes and he drowned in blue. He stayed there, drowning, and he would’ve happily stay there forever, for she was heat and she was life and he was none of those things.

 

_Sansa._

 

Yes, Sansa, that’s her name. And he is Jon. And she’s there with him, she saved him, she’s his heat. She is his.

 

“Hey. You’re awake.”

 

It’s her voice, so different than the one he’s heard before, that brings him back to his senses, and suddenly he’s aware of everything. There’s a beeping coming from near him, and the birds outside have just awoken, and there’s a lady coughing in the room next to his. And there’s also Sansa, his cousin Sansa, so unsure and with worry and a little bit of fear in her eyes. He wants to erase all that and assure her everything will be fine, it’s the least he can do.

 

She had saved him after all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jon could still remember the day he found out he was not a Stark.

 

It was his and Robb's first day of preschool. He was only two years old, but he already knew he wanted to be a police officer so he could help people. That meant drawing fake badges for him and Robb with their initials on them. It was all Jon knew how to write - he was only two after all - and officers J.S. and R.S. would run around the house chasing bandits and "punks", as their dad liked to call them. So when their preschool teacher - Miss Mel, he could still remember her name- asked for the kids to form a circle and introduce themselves, Jon proudly stated "Hello, I’m Jon Stark”, right after Robb had said his. To this day, he still remembered how the teacher had given him a funny look, but she never said anything, and at the end of the day when their dad went to pick them up along with Robb’s mother, Miss Mel pulled them aside and talked to them for a bit before they went home.

 

That night, after dinner, their dad brought them up to his office and it was so exciting because they were never allowed to go inside. He sat them both at his big leather chair, and kneeled down on the floor so he could look them in the eyes. He told them that since they had started going to school that meant they were big boys, and big boys were old enough to know the stories of their families. Their dad told them all about the Stark women and their ancient magic, how they had to keep it a secret, how if they ever had a sister, it was their job to keep her safe from bad people. Like it was his job to protect his own sister, once, but he had failed. He told them about Lyanna, how strong and kind and beautiful she was, and how she had gotten hurt by a really bad man and had later died, and how part of his heart had died with her. And then, he told them that Lyanna had a baby boy before her passing, and that he wasn't in fact Jon's dad, but his uncle, and right then and there Jon's heart broke. Robb then said _I don't want a sister and i don’t want to be Jon's cousin, I want to be his brother_ and Jon looked hopeful to his dad - now his uncle - and waited for him to say something. But he did no such thing. He just kissed both their heads and told them it was time to get ready for bed.

 

Later, when Jon was already tucked in, Ned came in the room to kiss his boys goodnight. He noticed the sad look in Jon's eyes and asked him if there was something he wanted to say. Jon simply shook his head, trying to hide his sorrows, but he hadn't noticed he'd started crying. Ned had caressed his head gently, his words low as to not wake up Robb. _You're a Stark. You may not have my name, but you have my blood. When you're older, I'll tell you all about your mother, but just know now that she loved you very much, and I love you the same._ Jon had smiled and tried to take comfort in his words. The next morning, he practiced saying uncle Ned a few times, even though it hurt him a bit not to call him "dad”. Robb continue calling Jon "brother", and no one would correct him, and things stayed the same. They still played cops and bandits, still slept in the same room as Robb, aunty Cat still read them stories before bed, but Jon felt different, he just didn't understand why.

 

A little time after that, aunty Cat’s belly began to grow big, and uncle Ned sat them both down again to announce that Robb was getting a baby sister. The boy had cried and told him no, he didn’t want anyone else, he already shared all of his toys with Jon. Uncle Ned had laughed loudly and told Robb that his sister probably wouldn’t want to play with the same toys, and Robb settled down and said ok and went on without a care. Jon had kept quiet, and once again at bed time his uncle had asked him what was wrong. _I know I’m not her big brother but can I also keep her safe?_ Ned smiled at his innocent words, said _of course you can, champ, aren’t you officer Jon?_ and kissed him goodnight. Six months passed and one day aunty Cat came home with a tiny red thing wrapped around a blanket. Rocking in a chair inside the pink room next to theirs, she showed them the baby girl. She said her name was Sansa, and the baby opened her eyes, almost as if she was aware of the attention. Robb told his mom that Sansa looked just like her, but Jon thought she looked more like a tomato with blue eyes. He obviously didn’t say that out loud. _I’ll be the best big brother in the world, I promise! I’ll protect her from all the bad guys._ Catelyn smiled at her son's worlds, and Jon said nothing but silently vowed to do the same.

 

When Jon was five and he and Robb needed not to share a room anymore, baby Arya was born, and she looked just like Ned. That also meant that she looked just like Jon, with dark hair and dark eyes. For some reason, that made him feel so happy, as if that was proof he was also a Stark after all, even if he didn’t have their name.  By then, baby Sansa was two, and for both Jon and Robb’s disappointment, she had shown no signs of magical abilities whatsoever. She was a very quiet child as well, spending most of her time with her mother or playing by herself, hardly ever wanting to participate in the boys more active games. The day aunt Catelyn - he by then had learned that she did not like being called “aunty” - presented baby Arya to the children, Jon knew she was gonna be different from her sister. Arya was a loud baby, always moving and trying to grab things, and Jon appreciated watching her on her little crib as she moved her eyes around, taking everything in. The first time she smiled when she looked at him, his heart grew two inches.

 

A year and a half later baby Bran was born. By then Jon was already 6, and he knew how to write and how to read, he was even better at it then Robb, but you wouldn't hear that from him. Arya had just learned how to walk, and that meant she was chasing the boys around the house all the time, trying to follow their pace and join in their games. She was still too young for that, and Robb sometimes found it annoying, pleading her to go play with Sansa’s dolls, but Jon didn’t mind a bit. Arya called him brother too, even if Aunt Catelyn and Uncle Ned had explained it to her who he was, and she understood that he wasn’t their son, but it didn’t matter. For her he was her brother - her _favorite_ brother, she once had said - and all the reminding of his name would not make her change her mind. As she grew older and started developing powers he’d always be the first to whom she showed a new spell, even if now Robb wanted to play with her as well, amazed by her abilities, and in return, Jon indulged in her every wish, spoiling her just as much as her father did. He adored Arya with all his heart.

 

When Jon was ten, almost eleven, his aunt got pregnant again. It was a difficult pregnancy, and she had to be in bed a lot, almost everyday towards the end, and uncle Ned wasn’t really of much help. Jon had already noticed the kind of detached way his uncle behaved with most of his children, and sometimes he even felt that he got more attention from the man than he was willing to give to his own kin. He supposed it was because Jon reminded him of Lyanna, but still, it was not fair to his cousins that their father seemed to prefer another man’s child over his own. Still, Ned kept his distance, and it was then that they had to hire Miss O to help around the house, while aunt Cat stayed at bed rest and uncle Ned worked longer hours at the Stark firm. Those final three months were the only time Sansa played willingly with the rest of them. Jon assumed it had something to do with the fact that her mother was not watching, and Miss O hardly minded her dirty clothes and messy hair, but he said nothing. By then, he had learned it was best to keep quiet and listen, that way you could figure people out more easily and avoid getting caught while doing something wicked. Like dressing up as a ghost and scaring poor little Bran in his room at night, or convincing Robb that it would be a good idea to put a fake spider inside Sansa’s school bag. After baby Rickon was born, they had to keep quiet for his aunt was still a bit weak. That made Jon think of his mother, who he tried so hard not to think about, for the did not wish to be sad, but he thought of her nonethesame and the pranks stopped, and he even helped Arya out with her hair in most mornings, trying to make it easier on his aunt. He knew what was like to grow up without a mom, he wished not for his cousins to know it too.

 

At age 13, the older boys were to have their first dance at school, and Robb teased Jon all week long over a pretty girl he wanted to ask to be his date, but didn’t even know her name. By then Theon was already friends with them, and he teased Jon too, which only made him more nervous. Both Robb and Theon had already kissed a girl - or at least they said they had, Jon hadn’t seen shit and he suspected that Robb was lying - and he had not, and that stupid dance at school was mandatory and he wanted to ask the pretty girl with yellow hair if she wanted to go with him. Sitting in his bed inside his room on Wednesday night, hands sweating, he was trying to come up with a plan for the next morning, talking to himself with a low voice, when he noticed little ten year old Sansa standing in the doorway, looking at him. He blushed a little, knowing how stupid he must’ve look, and prayed to the gods that she wouldn’t tell Robb. She stared at him for a while and then gave him a small smile. _When she tells you her name, say that it’s pretty. She’ll like that._ Then she left, leaving Jon to his thoughts. In the morning he had worked up the courage to talk to the girl, and when she told him her name - Lizzie - he had repeated the words his cousin adviside him to, and the girl blushed. On friday night, Jon and Lizzie met at the school’s front door and they talked and danced and she even gave him a quick peck on the lips before her mom picked her up and she waved him goodbye from inside the car. In the morning Jon found Sansa brushing Lady’s hair, and he thanked her for the advice. She merely smiled and resumed her brushing, but at dinner he noticed that she seemed to be walking with her head a little higher, as if proud of her wisdom. He thought she looked radiant.

 

On Jon’s sixteen birthday, his uncle asked him to come to his office after breakfast. Jon sat down at the chair facing Ned, wondering if now would be the time he’d finally be told the entire truth about what happened to his mother. He had already figured out, after much snooping around and looking into old photo albums, that Lyanna must’ve been real young when she had him. She was probably not much older then he was now, and that somehow made it hurt even more. A young girl who was robbed of her life because of magic. Jon had tried very hard to hate the Stark family heritage, but he couldn't, not when he saw Arya happily practice her spells around the house, looking so confident and fierce. So instead, he tried to hate the man who’d hurt his mother, only to later find out that man was his biological father. Ned told him little about him, only that he was wicked and dangerous, and he made Jon promise not to go looking for him. He didn’t even said his name. Jon’s world was torn apart that day, but he promised his uncle, and instead asked more about Lyanna. He knew it was hard for Ned to talk about his sister, he knew the man felt as if he had failed her, but Jon needed to know. So Ned told him all about her, about her love for riding and songs, of her fierce personality, of how Arya reminded him so much of her, and Jon smiled at that because yes, if he sometimes imagined his mom as a young girl she always had a bit of Arya’s fire, and that made him feel more like a true Stark. Then his uncle opened one of the drawers at his desk and took out a photo Jon had never seen before. It was Lyanna, yes, he knew, but her belly was so big and he realized she was pregnant with him. She was smiling at the camera, her hands caressing her belly, but her eyes were a little sad. _This is the only picture I have of the two of you together. I think she would want you to have it now._ So Jon took the photo and dried the tears out of his eyes and went to enjoy his birthday. At night, he stared at his mom’s face until he fell asleep, and he did that for a month before finally buying a picture frame and placing the photo in it. When he left for college to get his criminal justice degree, he took it with him, placing it on his nightstand at the dorms, and everytime he came back home for a visit, the picture frame was always tucked away safely in his backpack. That photo helped him get through Bran’s coma and his tough time during the police academy training. If his house was ever on fire and he could only save one thing, he would leave behind his phone, his wallet and even the beautiful quilt Sansa had knitted him as a Christmas present one year - not that he had ever told her how much he liked it - , and take the picture frame with him. For Jon, it was proof that he was loved, proof that he was wanted, even if his birth had caused so much sorrow.

 

It was a final proof that he belonged with the Starks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Turns out Jon and Robb definitely shouldn't have survived the crash.

 

Jon was off duty that night - the first friday in ages that he didn’t need to work - and had agreed to go to a party at the Stark’s firm. He never did anything fun, always working crazy hours and doing his best, aiming for the sheriffs position in the future. He was a dedicated deputy, took his job very seriously, and that meant almost never having time to hang out with friends or see his family. So when Robb had texted _it’s been a while, brother_ Jon had gone happily to the office party and actually had some fun. Both men were drinking, and being ever the responsible guy, Jon called an uber to take them home around 2 a.m. The other guy hadn’t been so thoughtful, and was drunk enough to cross the red light and hit their car on the left side, making it roll over 3 times before stopping upside down. The uber driver had died instantly from impact, but somehow Robb had been thrown out of the car with barely any scratches, landing safely a few meters away, and the paramedics had no idea how he hadn’t broken all his bones. Jon got stuck in the wreckage, a big piece of metal going through his chest. It was a miracle he was even alive, let alone responding. It didn’t last long, though, and he had died for 3 minutes during the ambulance ride. Luckily, the paramedics were able to reanimated him long enough so that he could go into surgery, and then the very competent doctors at St. Mary’s had worked their magic, fixing him up so he could soon be back on his feet and return to his position at the Sheriff's office.

 

He remembered none of those things, of course, and was being informed of them by Robb, who was currently sitting at a chair beside his hospital bed, a small cut barely healed over his eyebrow, while Ned talked to the doctors outside, even though Jon was an adult and perfectly capable of talking to the doctors himself. He had come to the hospital mid morning despite his wife’s protests, his cane in hand, and stayed there despite his exhausted look. Arya had finally gone home after staying all morning and even having lunch with him - Jon was not yet released for consuming solids, and having been given this horrifying soup he decided staying hungry was safer - and Catelyn had left after dropping of Robb, wishing him well and promising to bring the boys over at night after dinner. Sansa had waited for her father to arrive, talking to him briefly, before heading home. She had given him a quick peck on the cheek after saying goodbye, telling him she’d try to come back to visit before he was released, and his face burned where her lips had touched. Now, hours after she had been with him, he felt only cold, and it certainly didn't help that he didn't have any clothes on.

 

He was trying very hard to focus on Robb's blabbering, but his mind only saw _red_ , and he wondered what the hell was going on. That aching in his chest was new, almost desperate, and it didn't help that what he longed for was something that no one else seemed to be able to give. No one but Sansa, his beautiful, sweet, warm cousin Sansa, and by the seven could he get it together? He had barely talked to her these past five years, with her going away for college and his crazy hours at the station, where was all this hunger coming from? Because it was that, a hunger, aching for _her_ , and he was not pleased with it. Yet again, he was also not pleased with the fact that he had almost died - technically he did die for three minutes - and now not only he was always so goddamn cold, but also he could smell everything, and by everything it meant that he could even smell the Axl deodorant that one nurse was wearing four rooms down the left. He could also hear everything if he focused on it, and right now the security guard downstairs was listening to The Winner Takes it All by ABBA, and Jon wished he knew what the hell was going on, but he didn't. He was just very cold, and oversensitive, and Robb kept going on and on and on about how lucky they were to have survived and at that moment Jon Snow didn’t feel lucky at all.

 

Ned walked back into the room, slowly moving, and as Robb made to get up he simply raised a hand, commanding his son not to move. Robb stayed in his chair, and Ned walked over the other side of the bed and took the empty seat, allowing himself to rest for a bit.

 

"Well then, it appears that Jon is healing tremendously well, despite his injuries, and also quite fast. So fast that the doctors were a bit alarmed, but I managed to convince them that there is no harm in a quick recovery, as long as you're feeling fine."

 

Ned looked at Jon, waiting for an answer, and he wanted to tell his uncle that yes, he was feeling super fine except for the fucking cold, but no worries, he knew exactly how to get rid of that, and he would gladly spend all night burried between his cousin’s hot and red-

 

_Oh my gods, get it together, Jon Snow._

 

“Yeah I’m feeling fine, it doesn’t really hurt that much anymore. Just a bit hungry, but I can manage.”

 

“Good, because they’re talking about releasing you tomorrow afternoon.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

It was Robb’s turn to talk now, and he seemed pretty alarmed. Jon could tell not only by the look on his face, but by the smell coming from him. Apparently he could now smell emotions too, what a fucking blast, and Robb reeked of concern. He supposed he should be touched at his cousin affection for him, and maybe later he would be, but right now Jon just wanted to figure out what in the seven hells was happening to him and how could he make it stop.

 

“He just got major heart surgery, dad, how in the world is he being allowed to go home?”

 

“Well, from what the doctors told me, Jon’s body is almost fully recovered from the initial trauma. He isn’t cleared to go back to work yet, and he should be watched closely in case there’s any aftermath from the surgery, but so far he seems okay, so I told them it was his call. If he felt like he was ready to go, he could go. He’s staying at the house with us for now just to be safe, and once the doctors complete clear him, he’ll be able to go back home and to his job. That works for you, champ?”

 

Gods, did Jon hate that nickname. He was a twenty-six year old sheriff's deputy who had just been in a major car accident and was now experiencing what he pretty sure thought it was a type of ptsd. He felt nothing like a champ. He wanted to get out of the hospital, out of those bandages, and especially, get his own head out of his ass. But what he truly wanted was _her_ , and the fire that came along when she was near. Jon was just about ready to loose his fucking mind thinking about Sansa, her smell, her eyes, her everything, and he knew he had to stop that immediately. Something was very wrong with him, and he was gonna try to fix it, he just had no idea how. Yet.

 

“Yes, uncle Ned, it works. Someone has to go get Ghost, though, I doubt he’ll like to spend all that time alone in my apartment.”

 

Robb’s mood finally lightened.

 

“Already on it, brother, Sam dropped him off at dad’s this morning, and he was quite angry but I think Shaggydog has managed to calm him down a bit. He’s probably waiting for you in your old room as we speak.”

 

Ned clapped his hands, as if to finish the conversation, and started getting on his feet.

 

"That settles it then, now let's go, Robb, we should let Jon get some rest, there's been too many people in this room today already."

 

Ned got up with a bit of struggle, but neither Jon not Robb said anything or tried to help. They both knew Ned was a proud man when it came to his injuries, always pretending that they'd pained him less than they actually did. Jon usually thought it a brave thing, the man clearly didn't want to worry his family more than needed, but now Jon saw it as a weak attempt to protect them from the truth. He always knew Ned had never completely recovered from the accident, they all did, except now Jon could smell that there was something wrong with his uncle. Everytime time Ned moved there was a strong scent of pain, and also something rotten underneath it all. Ned grabbed his nephew's shoulder tightly and Jon looked him straight in the eye, lifting one of his eyebrows slightly. Ned's grasp only tightened and right then and there Jon knew his uncle was hiding something, not only about the true extent of his own injuries, but also about Jon's quick recovery. He felt the urge to scream at Ned, ask him what the hell was wrong, a surge of rage going through him, but he knew better than to do so in front of Robb. So he faked a smile, said goodbye to his cousin and kept an eye on Ned the whole time until they left the room.

 

He was alone now, no voices in his head, no crazy smells near him, no pretending to still be in pain when he really only felt the cold. There was no pain it all, at least not the kind he'd expect to have after being in a car crash. He threw his sheets aside, standing up and going straight to the bathroom. He was pretty sure his insurance didn't cover a private room, but Ned would never allow his nephew to stay in a shared one. The Starks were like that, no strangers to comfort, and growing up with them had meant that Jon came pretty close to turning into - and he would never say this out loud - a spoiled brat, but a nice one. That soon changed after his training at the police academy, and in a way Jon was grateful for the harsh words and the high expectations he had to live up to. There, amongst the other recruits, he had learned a thing or two about the real world, where your last name didn't matter all that much and your skills could be the thing keeping you away from a very painful death. The job had also taught Jon to be more humble and compassionate, not that he wasn't already with his kin, but it taught him to have more empathy for those who he'd once had considered to be lesser men. Believe it or not, those things were necessary if you wanted to be a good cop, and that was exactly how Jon acted every single day. He supposed his career choice was just an extent of his desire to be needed, to belong, and if his job allowed him to help people while preventing him from having to go to therapy to deal with his mommy issues then, hey, what was the harm in that?

 

He turned the bathroom lights on and looked at himself in the mirror. The first thing he noticed was the scar on his face. Not a fresh cut, a pink scar. It had been about twelve hours since the crash and his cuts were already healing. There were also multiple small ones on his arms and back, already fading, and his chest was all wrapped up in bandages. He started taking them off, there it was: multiple stitched up incisions from where the doctors had opened him up, as well as a big scar real close to where his heart beat slowly. Everything had started healing, the stitches ready to be removed, and Jon stared at himself for a long time, trying to make sense of it all, trying to come up with a reason for his speedy recovery, but he got nothing. _What about magic, dumbass?_ But Jon was no witch. The Stark magic only passed along to the women, and Jon was pretty sure he wasn't one, he'd been staring at the proof of that in the mirror for a few minutes. He would have to talk to Ned, maybe call uncle Benjen as well, even Arya, but he wasn't sure he wanted to involve her. Arya was his favorite cousin, he adored her, even more than Robb - he would never tell him that - but having growing up together, Jon knew how reckless Arya was when it came to magic. Usually he found it very amusing, but this time, involving her in whatever was that had happened to him might only attract more trouble, and he didn't want that. He wanted to be fixed.

 

Because even if he was a bit concerned about his quickly healed wounds, even if he was thinking about how he was gonna explain at the station that he was being released only two days after a chest surgery or if he was worried about facing his aunt later while looking almost completely fine - Jon had always know she hated magic and she had always been suspicious of him, although he had no idea why - the thing that was more urgent at the moment was his inexplicable and undeniable need for Sansa. He had tried to reason with it, tried to convince himself that the obsession was only because she had been the first person he'd seen after all the darkness and numbness, that this need he felt for her would soon wear down, that he would eventually stop missing her sweet smell and her body heat and the way her soft skin had lit a fire inside him while only holding his hand. He had not wanted to let her go, instead, if allowed, he would bury himself in her until he ceased to exist.

 

He tried to keep his mind away from her, tried to stop his depraved thoughts, but his cock twitched and he closed his eyes, and for a moment he thought about taking himself in hand while remembering her sweet hot scent, the color of her hair and the feel of her lips in his skin. _For fuck's sake._ He closed both his hands into fists, breathing in heavily through the nose, and attempted to focus on the smell of decay and sickness and death and all the other nasty things one could find at a hospital. He would not think of her like that, would not subject her to his filthy thoughts. He would get it together and he would find out what the hell was wrong with him and he would in no way whatsoever let Sansa find out about what went on inside his head. Even if he had known part of himself had always wanted her, way before the accident. But now it was more than a want.

 

It was a need.

 

Yep, Jon Snow didn't feel lucky at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve made it this far, thanks for the read!  
> Okay, so, I was gonna add some more but I realized the chapter was getting too long so i thought it was better to stop here. The next chapter will contain both Jon and Sansa’s povs, and the plot will advance more. These first two was kinda me introducing the protagonists and setting the mood to the story. I also wanted to show how differently Jon and Sansa perceive Ned and Cat, and I hope I was able to do that.  
> Please leave a comment if you feel like talking about something or just to show your support, I really appreciate talking to you here! Also, you can follow me on twitter at @marthasmadeline if you ever wanna see me cry over jonsa.  
> Xxxxxxx


	3. Elia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very short. I apologize for that.

Elia Martell prided herself on being a very resilient woman. Ever since her late husband, Rhaegar Targeryen, had died under mysterious circumstances at the early age of 24 - the official police report stated that his poor heart had given out - she took care of her three children and also ran the Targaryen family company alone until they were old enough to assist her. She knew how to delegate. She was esplendid at time management. She had, in every possible aspect, quite a busy and successful lifestyle, and never once had she lose sleep over the misfortunes that sometimes accompany this way of being. So when Ned Stark had called her at eight p.m on a quiet Saturday night, Elia did not let herself worry. She simply put down her wine glass, muted the news channel and picked up her phone, preparing herself for what was to come.

 

Now, over fifteen hours later, Elia sat in her reading room, book in hand, completely lost in thought as her eyes wandered through the landscape of her home. The view from the room was soothing, showcasing the wonderful red rose garden and the water fountains that she so deeply loved. With her back against the cushion, she had been sitting at the same spot on her window seat for hours, barely moving, never having opened the book she'd chosen to pass the time, only watching the daylight change outside as her thoughts took her to another place, over two decades ago, when the reality of her life was much too different than it was now. It was a life lived in constant fear, and she had no wish to return to such behaviors. A knock on the door brought her attention back, and with a clear voice she allowed entrance in the room, hoping that the worry in her mind had not transpassed to her face.

 

Pushing the two set of heavy wooden doors, a small blonde woman came in, looking rather lovely in a of the shoulder baby blue dress. A splendid casual look for a Sunday afternoon, then again, there wasn't much that Daenerys Targaryen did that wasn't immediately thought of as splendid. She closed the door behind her, turning to Elia with a shy smile, her violet eyes taking in everything in the room at once.

 

"Am I interrupting, El? I didn't mean to disturb you."

 

"Not at all, my darling, I was just contemplating the wonders of our household while debating with myself whether I should give this novel a chance or not. Come sit."

 

Elia pated the empty spot in front of her with a smile. Daenerys hurried through the room, her light steps reminiscent of a time when she and Rhaenys had studied the complex art of ballet. It had been fifteen years since Dany had quit, but Elia knew from experience that the body is capable of holding onto memories as strongly as the mind. She watched the young woman take a seat, seaming a bit nervous while folding her hands on her lap. She looked at Elia with her violet eyes - even after all this time she was still impressed at how vibrant they were -  but said no word, as if waiting for permission.

 

"You wish to ask me something, my darling? Do say so already, there's no need for fear."

 

Dany relaxed a bit while taking a breath. Although being almost 28, there was still a childlike quality to her that sometimes made Elia nervous. The world wasn't kind to naive people, especially women, and she deeply worried that Daenerys would discover this in the worst of ways. But none of her children worried her like Daenerys did, so she supposed maybe she was being too judgmental.

 

"Well, yes, I - um, you know my birthday is coming up so I was wondering if we could go visit Vis anytime soon? I know he'll be expecting me, and maybe this time Egg could come along with us as well, if it was okay with you."

 

"Your brother claims to be a grown man and yet he has no courage to speak to me himself on this matter?"

 

He wasn't her brother, not really. After Rhaella - her mother in law and Dany’s true mom - had died, Elia took care of Daenerys like she was her own, and in every way she was. The girl had grown up playing with her own children, spending vacations on Sunspear with Elia’s brothers, had learned all of the Martell family history and even excelled at the fighting arts practiced by the Sand's. The only thing distinguishing her from them were those very violet eyes, and of course, the whitish blonde hair, that made her look so much like her mother and father.

 

“Well, I didn't talk to him yet, actually. I was hoping you would invite him to come with us, you know how he gets around Vis sometimes, but they called me from the clinic and said he asked when I was coming to see him again, that it had been a while, and asked about Egg too so I thought maybe a visit would be nice.”

 

“Viserys asked for Aegon?”

 

Dany nodded slowly, waiting for an answer. It was a warning sign, Elia was sure. Viserys barely remembered his name most of the time, if he was asking questions about his nephew, aware of the passing of the days, if he was in fact getting better, feeling more lucid, then it could only mean something had changed. She thought again of Ned Stark’s call, remembered his words to her, remembered that dreadful night, and a panic she was not used to feeling began creeping up on her, taking hold of her chest, and she urged herself to keep her emotions in check. She would not startle her daughter, she would not begin to despair and she would certainly not lose sleep over something that could very well be handled with a simple phone call.

 

“Very well, then, I think it would be great to go see Viserys. In fact, why don’t we check with the clinic on how are his outside privileges doing? We could go visit him and maybe bring him with us to spend a couple of days in Sunspear. I've spoken with Doran a few days ago and he made me promise to go see him soon. It would be good for Viserys too, to breathe a less polluted air, and you know how much Arianne adores you.”

 

“I-I couldn’t possibly just drop everything-”

 

“Of course you can, darling, we do run this company after all, don’t we? Also I’m sure Rhae would love to join us, the gods know how desperately she needs a break from it all, and your brother loves going to Dorne, for reasons you and I know are quite improper for a gentleman but still, how long has it been since we all got together? It will be an early birthday celebration, wouldn't you like that?”

 

She waited patiently for Daenerys to respond. She knew she must seem so out of character, Elia was hardly a spontaneous woman, but she hoped that wouldn't bring up any suspicion from her daughter. They were indeed far more behind than expected on their visits to Viserys at the clinic, and she didn’t lie when she said she had talked to Doran. She missed her brothers very much, and in a time like this she needed their guidance to figure out her next course of action.

 

Dany’s face lit up and Elia felt a jolt of tranquilness go through her. The young woman grabbed her hands, squeezing them slightly, and started talking rapidly.

 

“It sounds marvelous, El, oh I can’t wait! I’ll go call Egg right now, I’m sure he’ll love it too. We’ll have to arrange everything at the office so we can go without any worries but I’m sure Arthur and the staff can take care of things. I’ll call the clinic as well, convince them it will be good for Vis to get out for a while, it’s going to be great. Do you think Ellaria and the girls will be there too? It’s been so long since I’ve seen them.”

 

“I’ll call Oberyn and ask him for you.”

 

Lifting herself up, Daenerys kissed both sides of Elia’s face and hurried out of the room, going to search for her phone and start making calls. Elia stared at the door for a while, hands on her lap, taking soothing breaths. They would all be away soon, safe in Sunspear, where no harm could be done to them. She hoped by the time they’d be back, Ned Stark would have handled his situation, and that there would be no need for her to get more involved that she already was. Despite her best efforts to keep herself calm, her mind went back to that night, and for what it seemed like the hundredth time since she had gotten the call, she cursed her late husband, wondering if it had brought him joy to make her miserable even in his death.

 

_Damn you, Rhaegar, damn you for what you’ve done to us._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, my darlings. So, initially I had planned for this chapter to contain both Jon and Sansa’s povs, as well as Elia’s, and I had also planned to update at least once a week. However, life has gotten in the way and I’m having a tough time writing all my stories. Since Elia’s was already done, I thought I’d update with only her pov, to keep the story moving, and to see if it helps me keep writing. I hope I did not disappoint you that much with this short chapter, but I promise I’ll do better next time. I already have the plot planned out, I’m just having trouble finding the right words, but I’m sure it will come to me.  
> As always, this story is unbetaded so there’s probably some mistakes out there, I’ll come back to fix them later, and english is not my first language (but I’m trying to improve my vocabulary so I can write better to you all).  
> Thank you so much for the support and love you’ve been giving to this story, I really appreciate it, I love reading every single one of your comments and you’ve helped me a lot with your takes on the plot. Also, shoutout to my girls on the tfw gc on twitter for cheering me up and just being the sweetest jonsa warriors (if you ever wanna talk you can follow me on @marthasmadeline).  
> If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Leave a comment if you feel like chatting or just want to give me some love :) Xxxxxxx


	4. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, to keep things going.

It had rained all day, the sky dark, the wind angry, the temperature low.

 

Jon had tried taking a nap before the boys would go see him, but he figured his brain was just too wired for that. All those new sensations, all the sounds and the smells and the almost unbearable cold, heightened now by the storm, it was all too much for him and there was no way he could bring himself to relax his mind. And of course, he hadn’t allowed himself to think of her, so the torturing hours of the afternoon passed slowly, with him ending up having to sing along to all the songs the security guard downstairs was listening to, just to keep his dirty mind occupied.

 

Later, he had changed into a set of sweats Robb had brought for him, in an attempt to hide his healed scars from his aunt. There was no more machines hooked onto him, probably because he was healing so fast, and he worried she would find it suspicious, but she said nothing about it after she arrived. Little Rickon, who was far from little with his fifteen year old physic, was much too wired to sit still, and had been a welcomed distraction to Jon’s insistent need for _her_. It was hard not to think of Sansa when her mother, whom she looked so much alike, was close by, and he caught himself thanking the gods that Catelyn was not a mind reader, for she would probably have him arrested if she knew what had been going on inside his head.

 

Rickon had blabbered excitedly for the first thirty minutes of their arrival, even dropping Jon’s dinner on the ground with his agitadness - not that Jon had minded much, there was something about the hospital food that made his entire body twitch with disgust, even if he was famished - and Bran had laugh at his expense, but didn’t seem to be very present at the visit. Catelyn was watching their interaction with attentive eyes, forever suspicious of his behavior, and this time Jon could sense something new in her. She had been afraid from the moment she had crossed the door to his room, and he suspected that that fear had begun even earlier, for he could cleary smell the almost desperate reaction her body was having, and he had no idea what it meant. Was she afraid of him? Had she been afraid for all those years? Had that been the reason she had kept her distance while he was growing up? But under all the fear that was also this deep sense of concern, and a little bit of affection, and he could see it in her eyes that she had been worrying about him. _That’s new_ , he thought, but maybe it had always been there, he had just never been able to see it through his resentment of her. She certainly hadn’t been too eager to show it, with all the glares and the scolding and the reprimands she had given him, and yet, the way his aunt was looking at him during these minutes of listening to Rickon chatter about school and soccer practice and videogames told him that she had been in fact worrying about his well being. She might have kept her distance, might have been harder on him than on the other children but still, she cared, and Jon had no idea how to feel about that.

 

Eventually, Rickon’s teenage body began to ask for food so Catelyn took him to the cafeteria to get a sandwich and a coffee for herself. Bran had stayed in the room with Jon, his wheelchair positioned on the left side of the bed, and he had barely said a word all night, which was highly uncharacteristic of him. Jon could tell that something was troubling his cousin - would he ever get used to this new sense he was given post resurrection? Probably not - but it wasn’t as clear as it had been with any of the others.

 

“You’ve been strangely quiet since you got here. What’s up?”

 

Bran stared back at Jon with those old eyes. He had just turned twenty, his face still seemed so much like a child’s, but ever since the accident, ever since waking up and realizing he would never walk again, never run, never climb another rock, something had changed in him. They all knew it, they just didn’t want to admit it. Bran had stopped being a boy the day his legs stopped working, and it was a terribly unfair thing and yet deeply true.

 

“Dad was talking to someone on the phone before we left. I’m pretty sure no one was supposed to hear what he was saying...It was something about you.”

 

Bran’s heart beat was steady. His breathing was calm, his pupils normal, everything about him seemed okay. Jon could tell that because in that moment all his attention was focused on the boy. Jon’s body was stiff, even colder than before, and he felt his own heart beat race. He waited for Bran to continue, waited to hear what was it that Ned needed to say in secrecy about him. Every fiber on his body told him something was wrong, and not just because of the over the top new senses that he’d got, not because of the cold lingering on his veins or his undeniable need for _her_ -  because in truth, not even for a minute of the entire day had he really stopped thinking about Sansa - but because of the way his cousin was looking at him. Bran knew somehting, he fucking knew, but he wasn’t saying anything. 

 

_This little shit is keeping something from me._

 

“Well, what did he say?”

 

Surprisingly, he managed to keep his tone light. For now.

 

“I don’t think you were supposed to survive this.”

 

It had been like a punch to the gut. _What in the seven hells?_ What did he mean he was not supposed to have survived the accident? Why was Ned discussing his life over a secret phone call to a stranger? How could Bran be so fucking sure of this information? Had he heard anything else? _Well, if I’m supposed to be dead then why aren’t I?_ All his answered questions remained like that, unanswered, for in that moment Rickon loudly opened the door, caring two cans of soda, a bag of chips and a sandwich him with.

 

“Rickon Bryden Stark, will you keep it down? This is a hospital, people need peace and quiet.”

 

“Sorry, mom.”

 

Jon noticed the way Catelyn’s gaze went from him to Bran, quickly accessing catching on the tension in the room. She had always been so observant, so sure make assumptions about him. The boy remained silent, still staring at Jon with those wise eyes, and there was something hidden behind them that Jon couldn’t quite understand. Bran then looked at his mother, giving her a small nod with his head. Jon heard his aunt hold a shaky breath. They were both keeping something from him, and to be lied to so blatantly made his blood boil with the cold venom spreading through his veins. He locked his jaw, closed his hands in fists, and did his damn best not to loose it right then and there. He wanted to punch something. They had kept him in the dark for over 25 years, never telling him much about his mom, his past, his heritage, and now they continued to lie to him as if he was a naive child, as if he would not be able to handle whatever it was that life had thrown at him. Jon was pissed, no, he was furious, and if he wasn’t getting any answers tonight the least he could do was to release some of the ice burning inside his bones.

 

“I think you should leave.”

 

“What?”

 

In the time that took for Jon to regain some of his composure, Rickon had made himself comfortable by sitting on a chair next to his right. His feet were up on the hospital bed, shoes off, and the remote to the tv was in his hand. He had brought movies for them to watch together, just like they had done multiple times when Bran was still in a coma, and was now looking at Jon with wounded eyes. He could sense his little cousin’s sadness, could also see the hurt in his eyes, but Jon was angry and tired and had no wish to continue pretending he was fine with the way things were.

 

“I want you to leave.”

 

Just as Rickon was about to protest, Catelyn stepped in, putting a firm hand on her son’s shoulder.

 

“He’s right, dear, it’s late. We should let Jon get some rest. He’ll be home tomorrow and you two can watch all the movies you want.”

 

She walked back to the door, holding it open with one hand, the other on her waist, and gave Rickon a firm look. The boy sighed, got up from the chair and gave Jon a hug before walking towards his mom. Bran said nothing, just simply rolled his chair away from the bed, avoiding Jon’s gaze while he did so. When he passed through Catelyn she ran her fingers through his hair in a soft and caring way. Her love for Bran had always been abundantly clear, Jon would even risk to say the boy was her favorite child, the contrast to how she treated them both would always be apparent.

 

“Let me just get my purse, I’ll be right out.”

 

She closed the door behind her, turning to face Jon, the disapproval in her eyes so familiar to him. It used to intimidate him, to make him wonder what he did wrong, but now it only made him angrier.

 

“That was rude, boy. You know how much Rickon looks up to you. The boys adore you, there’s no need to lash out on them. If you have something you want to say, say it now.”

 

“I’m not a boy, haven’t been for a while, in case you forgot. And I know you’re keeping something from me. Don’t think I won’t find out.”

 

His tone was harsh, and had it not been for the fact that he was so angry he might have felt surprised at his boldness in addressing his aunt. Catelyn didn’t display any reaction to his statement, but he could tell her fear had increased by the way her heart was rapidly beating. Her lips were pursed into a line, her hands squeezed shut, her knuckles white from the effort, and he wondered if she would snap at him, like she had done five years ago when Bran was in the hospital. Back then, it had broken his heart to see her direct so much hatred towards him, but now he hoped for a similar reaction, so he would have a reason to lash out. _Scream at me, say you hate me, come on, say you hate the stray your husband brought home. I was never worthy of your affection before, why would now be any different?_

 

Her reaction was the complete opposite.

 

Catelyn walked slowly towards the bed, her heart still racing with every step she took. She placed one hand on his cheek, and lowered herself to press a light kiss on his head. Then she whispered, softly, in a tone that she had never used with him.

 

“We’re just glad you’re okay, boy. Don’t give up on us just yet.”

 

He stayed silent, not daring to move, as she ran a shaky hand through his hair, much like she had done with Bran just a few seconds before. She then turned around, grabbed her purse from where it had been placed on the table, and made her way to the door. She opened it, and spoke loudly, her back to him.

 

“Your uncle and Jory will come pick you up tomorrow. I made sure your things were placed in your old room, so you don’t have to worry about getting anything from your apartment. If there’s anything else you need just tell Jory and he’ll take care of it.”

 

She left, then, and Jon was finally alone with his anger and his pain and all the other million emotions that went through him after that simple gesture of affection. He could not remember the last time his aunt had been so openly kind to him. She had always been distant, seeming so preoccupied with her family and duty as a wife and head of a house, never having the time to raise him properly like a mother should. Jon had thought she resented the love Ned had given him so freely, barely having any left for his own children. Once he had been old enough to understand this, he had tried his best to please, to stay in her good graces and attract as little attention as possible in regards of Ned’s affections. She had always recognized his achievements, yes, like only a relative would, but there had been none of the praise or the enthusiasm that she had given her own children. As time went on he understood that his resentment towards Catelyn in reality wasn’t about her at all. It had always been about the fact that he wanted a mom for himself, and she wasn’t able to give him that. Much so as her resentment towards him had simply been because her husband had not been able to act as a proper father to his own children, and Jon understood that his presence must have been a reminder of the constant faults of the man she so deeply love.

 

Still, his aunt’s coldness had stuck with him, even if he was already a grown man. To have her know this secret, this thing that everyone seemed so intent on keeping from him, as if he was still a boy, it anger him deeply. She had barely cared for him during his upbring, why had she been awarded with the trust of something regarding his own life? He wanted to be mad, to lash out, to lift himself up from the bed and break everything in his reach, and yet, her soft words, spoken so quietly as if to not startled him, had prevented him from doing so. He would wait until the morning, until his uncle would come get him, and he would press for the answers he knew he deserved.

 

That thought consumed him for most of the night, and even if he was tired of his own voice inside his head, he was not able to fall asleep. A nurse had come around midnight to see if he needed anything, bringing him a cup of juice he did not touch. His hunger was growing by the minute but he had no desire for the beverage or anything else. He only wanted one thing, and unfortunately she was not his to take. He tried commanding himself to sleep, tried to tire himself by watching the infochannel, but nothing worked. He was so incredibly cold, alone in this room, feeling betrayed and lost and so unsure of everything. He felt like a helpless child, and that angered him more than the rest, for he was no child, hadn’t been for a while. He had a job, his own place, he had the respect of his coworkers. He had killed men before, had prevented more deaths by doing his duty, and had worked his best to make peace with his sadness and grief for a woman he had never met. For the first time since awaking, he thought of Lyanna, really thought of her, and a memory of a voice came to him. That had never happened before, and yet, Jon was sure he knew the sound of his mother’s voice. He had no idea how that was possible, but he still knew, it was Lyanna and she had spoken to him. _Maybe the accident triggered something, some old memory, that’s probably it._ But he was tired of trying to make sense of things. There was no logical explanation to how he had healed so fast, or how he now could hear things no human should, or how he was always so damn cold except for when near her. _Sansa._ To think of her was to give in to the hunger he felt, and he wished not to do so, not now, not in that hospital bed surrounded by sickness and misery and death. He would not think of her in such a place, even if her memory brought him peace, even if her heat was all he wanted. He would not give in, he was a man, not a beast, and his urges would not control his actions. Jon thought of his training at the academy, thought of his superior’s words. _Use your head, Lord Snow, keep that temper of yours in check or you’ll get your ass handed to you very soon._ Aye, he would use his head, he would control his temper and in the morning he would get the answers from his uncle, whether he was willing to give them to him or not.

 

He thought of his aunt’s words one last time before trying to come up with a plan.

 

_Don’t give up on us just yet._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: thank you for the kind response on my Elia chapter! You guys are the best. Also this story has just reached past a 100 kudos and I'm so happy, thank you all so much for showing your love and support, I hope I continue to please you with my writing <3  
> I'm sorry for the delay. The demogorgon got me (and by that I mean writer's block, my depression, work stuff and just life in general). Thank you for being so kind and understanding.  
> I think maybe I could update more regularly if I wrote smaller chapters, how would you feel about that?  
> Anyways, I'm not fully satisfied with this (is anyone ever completely satisfied with their own work?) but I liked the way it ended so I decided to go ahead and post it. Jon's pov will continue during next chapter and then Sansa comes back (I miss writing from her perspective!). I hope you're not finding that the story is moving too slow. Some secrets will began to reveal from now on.  
> As always, this work is unbeated, so forgive my spelling and any other mistakes, I'm trying to improve my English daily and I always come back later to re-read and fix anything I find.  
> Thank you to the lovely jonsa warriors who keep me going, Anni, Anj, Cami and Mani, ilysm. They inspire me everyday and help me keep sane so I can continue writing all my stories.  
> If you enjoyed this chapter please let me know, I adore talking to you in the comments, you can also find me on twitter and Tumblr at marthasmadeline. Feel welcomed to leave any suggestions or requestes or really just anything you want.  
> Thank you for reading! I'll try to update as soon as I can! Xxxxxx


	5. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back.

The entire day she thought about calling Jeyne.

 

But what on earth would she possibly say? _Hey there, remember Jon Snow, my hot yet brooding cousin that used to live with us? I think I kind of awaken him from a deep slumber that he was in after a car accident that almost took his life. How? Well, you know that thing we never talk about but I know that you know cause the reason you’re still with us is because I told you not to get on that plane to Barcelona that crashed and everyone died when we were thirteen? Yeah, this unspoken thing. Turns out all the women in my family have magical abilities and that's how I saved your life and also Jon’s. And now I think I’m going insane because I can’t stop thinking about him and the reason it’s been raining all day it’s cause of me and that sucks because I actually had plans to go window shopping with Mya and now I’m curled up on my sofa trying to come up with an excuse to go the house tomorrow and check on Jon, so I need you to tell me everything’s gonna be alright even though I’ve been keeping this secret from you for like twenty years, okay?_

 

She definitely couldn’t say that.

 

In reality, there were many things Sansa couldn’t tell Jeyne anymore, and she carried that blame with her everyday. She would probably carry it until the day she died, but that helped no one, as Jeyne herself had pointed out almost two years ago.

 

The two of them had been inseparable since they were three. Mr. Poole worked with Ned Stark at the firm, and even if Jeyne had four other sisters to keep her company, she had clicked with Sansa almost instantly, despite their contrasting personalities. Jeyne had been Sansa’s best friend, but she was also her sister, her counselor, her angel. And that still hadn’t been enough to prevent Joffrey Baratheon from doing his damage.

 

Sansa didn’t like remembering her time with Joffrey for it would make her feel weak and helpless, even if that weren’t entirely true. The isolation that came with the abuse left it’s marks on her friendship with Jeyne, who had so desperately tried to help Sansa through it all. When it ended, the bruises slowly fading while Sansa’s strength returned, college came and set them apart once more.

 

Back then, Sansa was still ignoring her dreams - _who’s she kidding, she still ignores them now_ \- and almost six months passed until she actually decided to pick up the phone and talk to her mother about it. She had gone to University at the Eyrie, so desperate to put everything that happened in her life behind, convinced that spending time in a different place would help her feel better. And it did, actually. She met Mya Stone on the second day and they bonded over the simplest things and Sansa was thankful for having someone in her life who had no idea about her past. She got along well with the other students, she loved all her classes and her professors admired her for being so focused as a freshman. She was happy, finally, and maybe that’s why she ignored her wicked dreams that came to her every night. They had started a little after the first three months of school, slow at first, and then gradually growing into full night terrors that made her scream so loudly her roommate asked for a transfer. She finally told Catelyn about it on a devastating Thursday. It had been raining for an entire week and she knew it was her fault, she just had no idea how to make it stop. She was just so incredibly tired, with classes and meetings and her dreams that would keep her up at night, her mood was completely ruined and the rain just wouldn’t stop. So she called Catelyn at two p.m cause the raindrops were so loud on her window she couldn't focus on what professor Royce needed for the essay that was due to the next day and by the gods, could she catch a break? Her mom calmed her down by saying that every single one of them were fine - _yes, darling, even Johnathan_ \- and she decided to wake up early the next day and go for a run at the woods even if it were still raining cause that always cheered her up.

 

At night, she dreamed of a girl screaming, yet no sound came out of her mouth. She was laying in a bed of very white sheets, but they’ve become redder and redder and Sansa couldn’t breathe while watching the silent screams. It was as if she was feeling her pain, and she’s trapped, watching for what it felt like hours on end, until the sheets are now red and they suffocate her and she needs air or she will die. She woke up screaming the girl's name so loud the students next door came to check on her.

 

_Jeyne._

 

Fierce loving Jeyne, who had stayed in Winterfell to be close to her family after her father's death, who had so strongly insisted that Sansa stayed with her, despite their friendship having changed, who felt everything so intensely, who had been strong for Sansa when she couldn’t. Sansa hadn’t thought about her since the last time they texted, and that had been almost a month ago. She was always so busy with classes and college life, and lately Jeyne had taken longer and longer to reply, not really answering her calls, saying she was busy too. _People drift apart,_ she had eventually thought. It was only a matter of time before that happened with Jeyne and herself.

 

After the dream, though, Sansa had known something was wrong. She called her friend, even if it was three am, even if they hadn’t talked on the phone in months. When Jeyne didn’t pick up, she followed her gut and called Mrs. Poole, who answered after three rings, and she asked a million questions though Mrs. Poole couldn't really answer them because she had no idea where Jeyne was. They barely talked on the phone anymore, and she was worried about her daughter but at the same time Vayon’s death had paralized her in so many ways that she was having trouble keeping up with everything. And right there Sansa understood.  She knew what she had to do.

 

What Ramsay Bolton had done to Jeyne - and, she would later find out, to Theon Greyjoy as well - was so despicable that the newspapers couldn’t publish the actual story. The gruesome details were left only for the eyes of the police, and still, only the most capable men were allowed to work the case. And even if they had a lot of evidence - Jeyne's disfigured skin, Theon's chopped fingers, the toture room in the basement - Ramsay was a rich guy from an important family with a lot of influence and prestige and lots of connections that were enough to keep him out of jail. His punishment came soon enough, though, but that was something that Sansa didn't think about.

 

Jeyne had been so traumatized from all the abuse that it took her almost a year to start speaking about it, and the first thing she said was "thank you", which broke Sansa's heart into a million tiny pieces and two years later she was still trying to put it all together. So no, she couldn't call Jeyne and ask for help, cause Jeyne was still healing, ever so slowly, and calling her would mean involving her friend into something that could cause her harm, and Sansa would absolutely not do that.

 

Because, yes, if there was one thing she knew for certain was that Jon might look fine, be he wasn't in the slightest. She knew it in her heart, and she had tried, desperately, to ignore it, as if the feeling would go away as long as she wouldn't focus too much on it.

 

_He's fine, stupid, he's fine and you're fine and everyone's fine. You don't even know if it's you who brought him back, how could you? It's not like you have that kind of power anyway. You're not Arya._

 

So she dropped her phone between the cushions and decided that rewatching Gilmore Girls was a better way to spend her time. She did that all afternoon, and during the evening as well. She went as far as ordering take out, which she normally never did, and when Catelyn texted her with an update after she brought the boys home from the hospital, Sansa decided that she wouldn't not spend another minute worrying about Jon. She had better things to do than worry about someone who didn't care much about her at all.

 

_He's fine, dummy. Arya said she made sure, whatever that means. Let her deal with it._

 

And she did, really, she even made sure her phone was in airplane mode before going to bed. She would not spend another minute worrying about Jon Snow, and the next morning she would call Jeyne and she if she could come and visit and this would all be over.

 

Sadly, things had never really went her away.

 

The dreams that night was just as powerful as the one she had in college, and she woke up screaming and searching for her phone, her hands trembling, her body cold. She found his number and called two times, but there was no answer.

 

 

 

**SANSA**

Are you there??

Answer me.

Are you up?

Is Jeyne okay?

Did something happen?

 

**THEON**

shes sleeping princess

you know what time it is??

go to bed

 

**SANSA**

I had a weird dream.

Sorry.

 

**THEON**

yeahyeah we get it sans

everythings fine

just go back to sleep

 

**SANSA**

Sorry again.

Be safe.

Don't do anything stupid.

 

**THEON**

dont worry ;-)

 

 

 

She lay back on the bed, closing her eyes, and said a small thanks to the gods for blessing her with Theon as a friend. Still, she doubted she would get much sleep through the rest of the night. She had only sent those texts to be sure. The name she'd been screaming when she woke was not Jeyne's.

 

It was Jon's.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!  
> Omg okay there's a lot to cover here.  
> First, I'm sorry for disappearing. July was a very stressful month, I had a lot on my plate with work, my anxiety was acting up and I just couldn't write anything. Thank you for being patient with me and for all the love you have given this story, it warms my heart.  
> This chapter might not be very long but I felt it was necessary for us to come in touch with Sansa again before we moved on. I missed writing her, she's my baby.  
> At the moment I'm very inspired, some of you might have seen that I updated a few new stories, but my main priority is still this one. A new chapter will be coming soon, since I already have it planned.  
> As always, English is not my first language and this was a little bit rushed, specially the ending, cause the words were flying out of my head. I'll fix the mistakes later.  
> Thank you to everyone who's reading and supporting me. Your comments make my day. I'm always open to constructive criticism, so leave your thoughts if you wish to :)  
> Mani, Cami, Anni, Anj and Gio, you're my babies, thanks for all the encouragement always.  
> Also something special is on it's way!  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and once again thank you so much for reading! If you ever wanna talk I'm @sansaravenclaw on twitter!  
> Xxxxxx


	6. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon is very hard to write. I hope I made him justice.

The house had always seemed strange to him.

 

Old Stark manor had been built near the ruins of Winterfell's castle and had passed through several renovations as the years went by, filled with the memories of those who had inhabited it's halls for a little over two hundred years. Uncle Benjen used to tell them all kinds of stories about the ghosts who lived amongst them, varying between old Jonnel "One Eye" Stark to the spirits of the children of the forest, who had once lived in the very land the house stood on, and who probably were hiding somewhere near the castle ruins, ready to snatch them from their beds and eat them for dinner if they weren't obedient to Ned and Cat. Jon loved these stories and for a long time he actually believed the house to be haunted, and indeed it was, just not by the type of ghosts you'd expect.

 

They say a ghost could be many things, and to Jon, a ghost was a memory. It was playing knights with Robb and sometimes Theon in the woods near the house, it was teaching Rickon how to ride a bike under Catelyn's watchful gaze, it was scaring Miss O half to death on Halloween just to win Theon's bet. It was finding the dogs in the wolfswood, watching Ghost, Summer and Shaggydog bathe in the heated pools, looking for Nymeria for two days when she ran away, burying Grey Wind next to Lady under Sansa’s favorite tree. It was his mother’s old room, the one Uncle Ned had kept the same, with all her clothes and her books and her CD collection, to which Jon had so intently heard over and over again, imagining her to do the same when she was his age, until he became older than she ever was and it was too hard to listen to them again. There were no pictures, though, never any pictures, not until this day, and that’s how he knew she was a ghost in there too, forever haunting Ned Stark, who couldn't even bare to look at the face of the sister he’d failed to protect.

 

Standing there, leaning against the doorframe of Lyanna’s room, Jon questioned his decision to actually stay. Jory had picked him up early from the hospital - just Jory, for Ned had been too indisposed to come with - , but he had gotten home to an empty house. Catelyn had taken the boys to the sept and then for lunch with Howland Reed, and since neither Robb, nor the girls still lived at home, it had only been him, Ghost and his uncle’s closed office door, to which he had been instructed not to knock ok. The dog had given him a warm welcome, not hesitating despite his now continuous cold state, but he was now in the woods chasing a squirrel, more relaxed knowing that his owner was inside the house, safe. Jon knew that because he could actually feel Ghost, hear his breathing, know where he was, and he assumed that was just one of the many new things he could now do after whatever had happened between the accident and his awakening at the hospital. Another new and yet not so fun thing was his hunger, that only grew harder everyday, though his appetite was not improving. He had tried eating breakfast at the hospital and at the house, but all food seemed tasteless, nothing could satiate him, so he continued to starve and that had put him in a foul mood. He was also unable to sleep since awakening next to Sansa, and thinking about her wasn't helping a damn bit. Being at the manor filled with memories of their childhood together had started to feel like a bad idea, and yet there was something there that told him he was in the right place. Staring at Lyanna's empty room, he thought back at the words Catelyn had said to him, and he once again felt determined to find out whatever it was that was being hidden from him.

 

He heard Ned get up out of his chair inside the office and move to the door, his feet slow and heavy, his body tired. There was something wrong inside his uncle, Jon could smell it, but he knew better than to ask. Besides, explaining how he knew would probably lead to a series of questions he was trying to avoid. He wanted answers instead, so he stayed put, body leaning against his mother old door frame, back facing the hallway, even as he heard steps coming his way.

 

"Hello, son. I see you're doing much better today."

 

"I am."

 

With his back still turned, Jon heard Ned getting closer, and yet he did not move to greet him. The anger he felt was strong, and it was mostly directed at his uncle, who had been more of a father to him than to his own children. Jon knew that, and he also knew the effect it had on the man's relationship with his wife. He had been thinking about their conversation the whole night and he had come to the conclusion that he was angry at Ned and Ned alone. So he would not behave like a proper nephew should, not here, in front of his mother's old room, not after he had been lied to all his life about who he truly was.

 

Because, and this was something he had understood during the many hours of not sleeping and trying to not think of his cousin - although he barely managed to not think of her - his healing and his hearing and his senses were all magic. He wasn't stupid, he had grown up with the Starks and he understood that magic was real and it existed in all kind of shapes and forms around the world. And he was a Stark, yes, but he was no woman, which only meant that for he to be able to do and feel and be all those things he was now, his father must've been someone with magic in his blood. His goddamn father, who was somehow responsible for Lyanna's death. Jon was twenty six now, a man grown, an officer, who had dealt with very sick and twisted people and he would not take his uncle's excuses any longer. He wanted to know who he was, but more importantly, he wanted to know why he was like this and how could he make it stop.

 

His loving uncle just happened to be the one who had the answers.

 

“What are you doing up here?”

 

“Just looking.”

 

Ned sighed, his tone changing to something more serious, as if he was talking to a stubborn child.

 

“You know I don’t like anyone coming in here, Jon.”

 

“Well, she was my mother so I think I’m more than allowed.”

 

He finally turned to face Ned. His uncle looked tired, maybe more tired than Jon had ever seen him. He had huge bags under his eyes and his dark hair was appearing to be a little grayer than normal. His face was sad, and Jon could tell that his words had upset him, but he had meant them. He was tired of the secrecy, tired of being denied the true story of what had happened to his mother. He had been patient, for his love of Ned was too big to measure, but this new cold inside him burned his pity away, and now there was only anger and hurt. He deserved to know what was going on. They owed him that much.

 

Still, looking at his uncle's eyes, he saw himself, Arya, and his mom, and he knew he could not be as angry as he wanted and as rude as he planned. Ned was his family and he had lost Lyanna as well. Jon had never known his mother but he imagined for a moment what life would be without Arya, especially if she was gone because he wasn't there to keep her safe and it hurt too much to think about it too long. So no, he would not be as ruthless with Ned as he had initially planned, but he would push, yes, he would push and he would press and he would get his answers because something told him that he would be needing them soon enough.

 

"I just miss her, uncle. Even if I didn't really meet her, I miss her everyday."

 

"I know, son. I miss her too."

 

"So will you tell me then? The whole story? I need to know."

 

He hated the way his voice sounded then, almost as a plead, and he knew that deep down he was just a boy, missing his mother. It made him feel weak and small and wrong, his already cold body seemed to become even colder, and in that moment he felt truly alone.

 

Ned sighed, closing his eyes for a bit and rubbing his forehead with three fingers, much like Jon himself did after a frustrating case at work. Stepping forward, his uncle put a hand on Jon's arm before speaking.

 

"I'm going out of town for a bit, but we'll talk when I get back. I promise."

 

"Where are you going?"

 

That was strange. Ned hardly travelled anywhere since the accident, his body being too weak to endure several hours on a plane without leaving him drained. Jon could feel he was being kept in the dark again, but something inside told him it was best not to push too much. _You can get your answers in another way. Be patient._  

 

"I have business in Sunspear. Robb was actually the one who'd go, but the doctor said he shouldn't travel so soon after a concussion. I'll be back at the end of the week."

 

He squeezed Jon's shoulder as if to sinalize that the conversation was over. Giving him a half smile, the man reached behind Jon to grab the doorknob, closing Lyanna's room, then left, not waiting for an answer. Jon watched as Ned slowly made his way back to the office, shutting the door behind him, and only when he was sure his uncle could not hear him anymore, he let out a sight.

 

_Guess you have the week to snoop around then, officer._

 

* * *

 

 

He spent the entire afternoon in his room.

 

The last time Jon had actually stayed at Stark manor was during Christmas. Since the family always celebrate for three days, it made sense that he wouldn't go back and forth from his house. He had brought Ghost, who was happy to enjoy the company of his brothers, and everything went smoothly. That is, until Arya's fight with Sansa. He hadn't given it much thought back when it happened. Arya was quick with her words, often saying somer she didn't really mean, and he knew that. Everybody knew that, specially Sansa, who had been on the receiving end of Arya's temper more than any of them. Still, he could tell she was hurt by her sister's words. They all could. Then again, only Catelyn had tried to intervene, predictably taking Sansa's side, which only served for the fighting to increase.

 

Of course he had no idea what the fight was about. The three of them had spent thirty minutes inside the kitchen, and apart from the occasional loud word, the men were excluded. Until it stopped, and Sansa came out, eyes wet with tears. She said nothing though, only kissed Ned's cheek, scratched quickly behind each dog's ears and left, grabbing only her car keys and leaving all her stuff in her old room. She didn't come back the next day, nor to Sunday lunch either for two whole weeks. No one had dared ask Arya what was wrong, and Catelyn had only shaken her head in silence after Robb had whispered _where's Sans?_ to her during Christmas lunch.

 

Jon wasn't sure why his thoughts had wandered off to that. Maybe it was being at the house, laying in his old bed, surrounded by old boyish things. Maybe it was the way he could not stop missing her presence, who had been so harm when he was so cold. The truth was he had no idea why his mind decided to suddenly start doing something he had never allowed himself to, something he had always promised he wouldn't do. _It's this magic thing, I'm sure. Something's wrong inside me. And poor Sansa was the first one near my rotten brain, she got caught in the crossfire, that's all._

 

He wondered how much longer he could keep telling himself that.

 

* * *

 

 

Catelyn and the boys arrived near five. Bran was best friends with Jojen Reed, Howland's son, and Jon suspected Rickon might have a crush on the man's daughter, Meera. The five of them had been together almost all day and Jon wondered if it was common for his aunt to leave Ned alone at the house for so long or if she was deliberately trying to keep them away from him. That hurt him a bit, imagining that she would now try and separate them, but he was quickly proven wrong once Rickon invited him to play videogames with him until dinner. Bran just sat with them, watching Jon with his all knowing eyes, and the way the boys heart bead was creeply slow made Jon few unnerved during the whole time they played.

 

It was nearly seven when Catelyn showed up at Rickon's door.

 

"Jonathan, would you be so kind as to set the table and take out the meat that's in the fridge? Ned said his leg is hurting him more than usual today so I'll just run him a bath and I'll be right down to start cooking."

 

"No problem."

 

He should've offered to cook, he really should, but to only think of preparing a meal made his insides turn. During the game a small headache had appeared and he was now starving and cranky, despite beating Rickon's ass four times in a row. Not eating would soon become unbearable, but he had no idea how to deal with the situation so he just went downstairs to the kitchen and started setting the table for five. It was a methodical task that he usually performed as a kid, being the most organized of them all - apart from Sansa -. Catelyn often asked him to set the table, knowing that he wouldn't complain and would actually do it right. The thought made him smile, for his aunt's attention was something he craved as a boy, and he mostly would set the table to try and impress her.

 

After he was done, he made his way to the fridge, taking out the plastic container where Catelyn had stored the meat. The smell surprised him: it was good, and it made his stomach growl. He opened the lid, looking at the red meat, because it was just that, raw and unseasoned red meat, and it yet it smelled so appetizing to him. His heartbeat accelerated, he wanted to taste it, just to see if it was as good as the smell. He couldn’t do that, though, he wouldn’t eat raw meat. He barely even liked sushi, he would not eat raw cattle, there was no way that was happening.

 

He was starving, though. And the smell was too good.

 

Jon picked up a piece, the red blood staining his fingers and dripping down his arm. His focus was completely on the meat, all his senses drawn to it. He opened his mouth and took a bit, preparing to feel nausea or disgust, but it only felt good. It felt really good. Sure, it was cold and a bit stiff, but it was the best thing he had tried eating in days, and he needed more. He kept eating, a bite after the other, more frenetic each time, until half the dinner's meet was gone and his chin and arm was dripping with cow’s blood.

 

“Jon?”

 

He froze, halfway through bite. He knew that voice, he would know that voice twenty feet underground. And yet he had not heard her come in, had not smelled her perfume, had not felt her body stiffen at the sight of him. He could sense it all now, as his body regained some restrain. Turning his head to the left, he was able to see her fully, standing at the kitchen door, face shooked, so pretty with her red hair in a braid, a navy sweater and black skinny jeans that allowed him to imagine all sorts of things. Her heart was beating fast and her eyes were set on the piece of meat still in his hand.

 

“What the hell?”

 

Yeah, he knew that voice. How could he not?

 

_Sansa._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Gio. You're amazing.
> 
> As always, English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. I'll try to fix them as soon as possible.  
> This chapter has been on my mind ever since I started writing this fic so it feels good to actually post it. That being said, I'm worried the ending felt rushed, but I just needed to get it out of my head as soon as possible.  
> I'm buried with work so I have no idea when the next chapter will come, probably once September starts. I already have an outline for it tho, so maybe the wait won't be that long.  
> Also, if theyne is your thing, there's a little one shot I wrote that takes place in this universe, simultaneously as Sansa's second chapter. Check it out if you want to! 💞
> 
> I'm @sansaravenclaw on twitter if you ever wanna talk :)
> 
> Thank you for all the support always, you guys keep me going!  
> Xxxxxxx


	7. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been severely depressed and therefore haven't been able to write much. That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
> Also, we've hit 200 kudos recently and I just wanna say I'm grateful for every single one of you who took the time to read this story. Thank you!

“I need you to cover for me.”

 

Bran had shifted a little on his chair, eyeing Sansa with his know at all stare that could make her go absolutely insane sometimes.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’m asking you, Bran. Can you do that? Can you tell mum you and Rickon want pizza for dinner and that I took Jon to Arya’s?”

 

“And if she asks why?”

 

“Lie.”

 

They had stared at each other, in silence, Bran seeming to measure the weight of her words.

 

If she had been completely honest with herself, she would’ve told him that she was panicking inside. In her mind, images of Jon practically devouring the raw meat as if it was the most apetitizing thing on earth were making her go insane.

 

She had decided to go to the manor after an entire day of convincing herself she didn’t need to. However, her dreams were clear - or as clear as those prophetic messes of screaming and blood could be - and she knew she had to see him so she could get to the bottom of this. There was no point in denying her magic anymore, not when everything felt so incredibly confusing and loud and she was scared out of her mind. So, gathering up the courage to finally confront him about it, she had arrived at the manor, expecting to find her mum in the kitchen preparing dinner like she usually was.

 

Safe to say she had not been expecting Jon Snow covered in cold cow’s blood while eating raw flesh at the marble counter.

 

 _Put that away, go get cleaned up and meet me outside_ was all she had said before turning around and heading to the stairs. She had urged Bran to get out of his room, pushing his wheelchair like she hadn’t done in years, and begged him to cover for them as her heart raced and her mind thought a million things at the same time.

 

“I know something’s up, Sans. Just because no one tells me anything doesn’t mean I don’t know.”

 

And maybe, just maybe, because her head had been hurting and she could feel herself getting more and more upset, she had decided to let it out. It was Sunday night and the rain that had stopped in the morning had just come back, stronger this time and Sansa _knew_ it was her fault. _Always a bloody rain_ and as the raindrops started falling violently against the window she shared with her little brother as much as she could without making him as scared as she was.

 

“I had a dream, Bran. Scratch that, I’ve been having dreams and it’s like you said, you’re not stupid. No one here is. So I’m having dreams and something’s not right with Jon and I’m going to figure this out but for that I need you to cover for me. And yes, that means lying to mum, because you know how she gets. I can’t tell you more now, not because I don’t want to but because I genuinely don’t know anything else and if I’m going to figure this out than I need your help, ok?”

 

Bran had held her hand and squeezed it tight, like he used to when he was just a kid and she stayed at home babysitting. Sansa had allowed herself to take comfort in that squeeze, drawing from it the courage she knew she needed for what would come next.

 

_Be brave, like a lady in a song._

 

She used to tell herself that when she was little and scared. Before Rickon was born, the boys and Arya would leave her alone in the house all the time, playing their games outside, making a mess of themselves and screaming so loud her mother would hear them even from the closed reading room upstairs. Not Sansa, though, never Sansa, for she knew it was hardly proper to behave in such manners, so she would spend her afternoons alone, playing with her dollhouses and reading her fantasy stories and dreaming of knights and ladies and a day where she wouldn't have to be so afraid. She was scared of her powers and therefore never learned to use them. She was scared of her dreams and insisted on ignoring them. But mostly, she was scared of being alone at the Stark manor, her imagination filled with uncle Benjen's stories about ghosts and the children of the forest, and it wasn't until she got Lady that she felt truly safe inside. Lying awake at night she would whisper the words, like a mantra, willing herself to go to sleep and forget about the things she thought lurked in the dark. _Be brave, Sansa, you gotta be brave, like a lady in a song of fights and glory._

 

_Be brave._

 

She was now standing in front of the main door, hand ready to turn the doorknob, and she knew Jon would be outside waiting for her. The rain was only getting stronger and she felt a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature dropping. What was it her father used to say about fear and bravery? She couldn't remember.

 

_Be brave._

 

Sansa took a deep breath before opening the door.

 

He was waiting for her, standing face to the rain. Ghost was at his side, all wet and dirty and Sansa smiled because she hadn't seen him in a while. The dog turned his head towards her, coming to greet her near the door and as she got down to scratch behind his ears she noticed his snout was dirty with blood, much like Jon's mouth was when she had arrived. Lady had never killed a thing when she was alive, and Sansa doubted the other dogs were allowed to hunt in the woods, but here Ghost was, red eyes staring at her intently, as if daring her to ask Jon about his pet's diet. She didn't.

 

Instead, she let the dog in the house, a small part of her brain silently making a prayer that he wouldn't dare jump onto the couch all muddied up like that, and she closed the door behind her, coming to stand next to Jon but not yet facing him. The minute she had seen him in the kitchen she decided to take him to Arya's. She still remembered her sister's words at the hospital and she knew something was up. Still, standing there at the porch, surrounded by heavy rain and cold winds and the pure certainty that there was something wrong with him, she didn't feel brave at all. She was still in bad terms with her sister, herself and Jon had never really been close and her mother would freak out if she knew that Sansa was meddling with magic. Her bad night caught up with her and she felt a sudden surge of tiredness, mixed with the cold from the rain. She wished it would stop, the bad weather and the freaky feeling inside of her, but none did.

 

 _If only you had learned like your sister_.

 

She hated that voice. It was the voice of self doubt, the voice that reminded her that even though she was a Stark, an all mighty, powerful Stark, she knew close to nothing of magic, and her ancestors probably considered her a disgrace in the family. That voice was with her daily, sometimes quiet, sometimes so loud it was all she could think about. It sounded like Arya most of the time, and also her father whenever she had a really bad day. And once or twice it sounded like someone else, someone older, wiser, and she hated those times because somehow she knew it only meant those things were true. She should've learned, she should've faced her fears, she should've been better. Except she wasn't.

 

Jon still hadn't said a thing and she knew he was waiting for her to speak. She didn't feel like speaking, not to him at least, not if it meant having to explain the reason why she was so freaked out about this whole situation. _Arya would have handled this better._ Giving up the rest of her self control she looked in her bag for the pack of old cigarettes.

 

Sansa didn't have the habit of smoking. It was a disgusting thing to do, inhaling smoke and blowing it out, polluting the air, being surrounded by the bad smell all day. Her mother had taught her from a very young age that smoking was bad, and she had followed the rules, like she did them all, and had been a good girl. Except sometimes, when she was really tired, or really upset, or just wanted to pretend for a minute that she was a normal young lady, she'd have a smoke. And it felt goddamn good.

 

The pack in her bag had been bought almost six months ago, and it was still pretty full. She pulled out a very wrinkled cigarette and her lighter, protecting the flame against the wind as she lit it up. Jon shifted next to her while she took a long drag, his body facing hers now, but she still wouldn't look at him. Something told her it was better not to look.

 

"That's new."

 

His voice was low compared to the loud rain and it gave her the chills. She was wearing a very thin cardigan and the tips of her fingers were cold, despite holding the cigarette. She took another drag before speaking.

 

"So it's you eating raw meat."

 

His chuckle was low and short, and it made her wonder when was the last time she'd heard him laughing. She wondered if he would apologize for it, wondered if he was ashamed of being caught, but he kept quiet. He took a step closer to her and everything in her body told her to get the fuck out of there. The same uneasy feeling that struck her at the hospital was back, and she _knew_ something wasn't right with Jon. She wanted nothing more than to give this up, go home and get a good night's sleep, but that wouldn't be possible, not with her dreams warning her constantly about him and the danger they were all in. Because she had figured it out by now that it wasn't only Jon who was in trouble. It was all the Starks, otherwise she wouldn't be feeling so much panic inside her. This concerned all of them, and she had to figure out what was really happening. She couldn't fail her family, not again.

 

She turned to face him and his eyes looked completely back in the dark and as much as she wanted to run away, she stayed put. _Be brave. Jon is Jon, he would never hurt you._ Not intentionally, she hoped.

 

"Do you wanna explain yourself?"

 

"Something tells me it wouldn't matter to you."

 

He was right, it wouldn't. She was done with everyone's bullshit about Jon, always being so secretive about his past. She was also done with resenting him for being closer to her siblings than she was. There had been so much indifference in the way she treated him over the years, and yet, here she was, going through all this trouble just to make sure he would be okay. _It's harder to pretend you hate him when you almost lost him._

 

She payed that voice no mind.

 

She took one more drag of the cigarette, getting ready to drop it on the ground and step on it, but Jon's hand closed around her wrist before she could do so. He took the cigarette from her fingers and brought it to his mouth, taking a drag and blowing the smoke out. His eyes were on her the entire time and she held his stare, aware of how close they were, of how cold his hand was on her, just like it had been at the hospital. He was far from fine and she could feel it all over her body, something wicked lurking inside, making him suffer even. Her heart was beating faster and faster and she realized she was terrified, not of Jon, like she initially thought, but of what might happen to them if she couldn't help him out. Her hand moved as a reflex, taking the cigarette from his lips and dropping it on the ground, where she stepped on it and gracefully kicked it out into the rain.

 

"Those things are bad for you."

 

He laughed again, louder this time, and she liked that she was the one that made him do so. The Jon Snow she knew didn't laugh much, not around her at least, and to think he was still able to make such a sweet sound even being filled with something so dark inside had her hoping that things would be alright eventually. She held onto that.

 

His eyes never left her  and she didn't like how he made her feel, like he could see her, all of her, and not just the mask she wore to talk to him. It was a weird thing, feeling seen, after getting used to being the perfect girl everyone always wanted her to be. She wondered if he wanted her to be perfect as well, or if he wouldn't mind learning all her flaws and fears, finding out how messed up she could be. She wondered if he would help her let loose.

 

_Are you crazy? This is Jon, your cousin, Jon Snow. He's family. Why are you being weird? Stop being weird, Sansa._

 

"Now what?"

 

His voice brought her back to her senses. What was it about his voice that made her shiver all over? She didn't know, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to find out. _It's the lack of sleep,_ she thought, just the lack of sleep mixed with the power of the heavy rain that was making her feel so weird and warm in places where she had no business being warm. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the rain, trying to clear her mind.

 

"We're going to Arya's. She's got some explaining to do."

 

She still hadn't opened her eyes when she heard him move in front of her. She startled, her eyes staring at him when his cold hands wrapped his jacket over her shoulders. It was big on her, and he pulled the hood up her head, his fingers gently caressing her temple before letting go.

 

“I noticed you didn’t bring an umbrella.”

 

He was wearing a plain grey shirt and black jeans, looking very clean, nothing like the image she’d seen earlier. She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time that night, noticing his messy curls, his scruffy beard, his strong arms, his big hands, blushing as her eyes drifted down and then up again, to see him looking at her intently, having known he’d noticed her staring. She hoped the dark had hid her blush but she knew he’d seen it. She felt as if he could see all of her, and she hated that. It was easier to keep her emotions hidden.

 

“You’ll get all wet.”

 

She hated how low her voice sounded, almost a whisper near to the incessant noise of the dripping rain. It made her feel like she was doing something wrong, standing there at the front porch with Jon, and she didn’t want to feel guilty for being with him. There was no need for that anymore, she was a woman grown, she was a witch - _barely,_ the voice reminded her - for god’s sake, she could do what she wanted when she wanted. There would be no more hiding and no more being scared of things that were perfectly fine. She had earned the right. She could be brave. She would fix things and she would talk to Jon and she would wear his jacket if he wanted her too. There was no harm in that.

 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

 

“Let’s go, then.”

 

Turning around before she could convince herself not to, she sprinted to her car, keys in hand, holding his jacket close to her body. The rain was incredibly cold, so was the wind, and the responsible voice in her brain reprimanded her for not bringing an umbrella. _You’ll both catch a cold and then there’s no more figuring things out._ However, something told her Jon could not catch colds, not anymore. Maybe it was the way he walked to the car, calmly, while she sprinted not to get so wet. Maybe it was the way he sat still on the passenger's seat, while she shook in her wet clothes even with the heater on.  Maybe it was the way he kept his drenched shirt on while she took off his jacket and her cardigan, leaving only her blue tank top on, still feeling miserably cold as they drove to Arya’s. Jon kept quiet the entire ride, eyes forward, and if it weren’t for his locked jaw and his closed hands on his lap, Sansa would almost think he’d paid no attention to her at all. 

 

He had, though. 

 

And strangely, the thought of her having an effect on him made her pleased.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, okay, it's been a while.  
> I'm not gonna apologize cause I feel like there really isn't a point in me doing so. Like I said, I've been deeply depressed, and my mind is not working right.  
> I'm not sure when a new chapter will be uploaded but I already know what I'll write. It was initially supposed to be one big Sansa chapter but I feel like maybe you need to see Jon's side of their interactions a bit before we get back to Sansa (and Arya).  
> I hope you enjoyed the two of them - finally - together here, since it had been a while.  
> Also before anyone say anything, where I come from cousins getting together is not really taboo. It happens once in a while, in some states more than others, so I don't feel weirded out by it at all. I know that's not the case for everyone, so despite this work already having the "Jon and Sansa are Cousins" tag, I can add the "Cousins Incest" tag as well, if you guys feel like I should. Please let me know?  
> The light angst in this story is sort of related to that, and I apologize if I have offended anyone by writing about it.  
> Also I'll be getting back to Elia soon, I miss her and I feel like it's important that we see how things are going for her and the fam in Dorne while the Starks deal with this mess.  
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading and commenting and being honestly the best. I'm so happy for sharing this with you, specially cause things aren't going so well for me with work and etc. Writing these stories gives me a lot of joy, and I have you to thank for this.  
> Let me know how you feel about the chapter, if there's anything you're excited to see, if there's changes that need to happen soon or anything else that you wanna say.  
> As always, English is not my first language and I apologize for any mistakes, I'll try to come back later to fix them.  
> I'm @sansaravenclaw on Twitter and Tumblr if you ever feel like chatting.  
> Thank you so much for reading Xxxxxxx


	8. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we pretend I haven't disappeared for two months? :(
> 
> To Gio, who's had a tough week. I hope this helps somehow.
> 
> Also, we have two povs in this chapter but Jon's is much bigger so it still counts as his.
> 
> Fingers crossed you'll enjoy it!

It was night. The moon was high in the clear sky, beautifully pale, and if one were to look up they would see a million stars surrounding it, yet Dany looked at the sea, barely visible in the dark, the wild waves of the high tide making her think of stories of a storm a long time ago, in a place not so different from this one. She sighed, closing her eyes and focusing on the sound of the waves, imagining she was back at the beach in Dragonstone with Rhae and Egg, as if they were still children, happily bathing in the sun as their laughs filled her ears and gave her joy. What she wouldn’t do to go back to that beach, to go back to regularly visiting her brother, who she missed so dearly. Viserys would be arriving in Sunspear some time during the next few days, she wasn’t sure of when, but she knew he’d be happy to see her. Elia had arranged for them to be together for the week, as an early birthday present for Daenerys - a very early one, since her birthday was more than a month away - and she couldn’t be more pleased with her godmother for doing so. They would all leave in the morning, Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon and herself, to meet not only with Viserys but with the entirety of the Martell family, which warmed her heart deeply and yet, she still felt worried. Something told Dany that her brother needed her, a feeling inside her chest that would sometimes appear whenever Vis was in trouble. She had called the clinic just to be sure and they had informed her that everything was alright, she had even briefly talked to him on the phone, his voice miles and miles away as it always was, and yet she couldn't shake that uneasy feeling in her chest that something was very much wrong.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

 

She turned around to see Egg smiling at her, both hands in his pockets, wearing sunglasses even if it was almost eleven p.m. He’d skipped family dinner, their one obligatory meal together every Sunday, leaving Rhae furious and Elia only slightly annoyed. Dany didn’t mind, she was used to dealing with his escapades. Aegon and her were incredibly close, given their similar age, and she liked to think that they were more than just kin. He saw her, in a way that Elia and Rhae unfortunately didn’t, and she also saw him, the real Egg, hidden under his bad boy act. People used to get them mixed up when they were little, or thought of them as twins, even if Egg’s skin was three or four shades darker than Dany’s. She saw him as part of herself, like her heart had been divided in three at her birth, half for her, half for Viserys and half for Egg, and she wondered if he too had felt a tugging in his chest, warning that trouble was to come.

 

“We missed you at dinner, you know? Rhae was pissed.”

 

“Oh, isn’t she always?”

 

He came closer, giving her a sideways hug while she turned back to the ocean. They both stood there, alone in Dany's penthouse, staring at the endless dark and the raging waves. She wanted to ask him if he had any guesses on what that feeling was, but she was also afraid. The air was different that night and Dany made a silent prayer to the gods for mercy on them all, for whatever it was that approached in the horizon seemed far more troubling than she had initially thought.

 

_ Something’s coming. Something big, I think. _

 

Egg brought her closer with his arm, squeezing her shoulder as a reassuring gesture. He rested his chin on top of her head, staying silent, both of them listening to the sound of the restless sea.

 

_ I know, Dany. I feel it too. _

 

* * *

 

If heaven was Sansa Stark, hell was being trapped in a car she drove for thirty minutes without being able to touch her.

 

Jon had done his best at the porch, his best to keep cool and contained, too aware of his present state to even attempt anything with her, and yet, the feel of her skin under his had nearly drove him insane. After all the coldness he'd felt during her absence, being near Sansa was as soothing as it was maddening, and his body only wished he could get closer to better feel her warmth, to better feel her.

 

Had he be given more time to think about his actions prior to their encounter, he’d probably be concerned about the fact that, yes, he had been eating raw meat, and enjoying it. However, Sansa had overpowered anything he might’ve been once intended to feel, her sweet scent and her comforting heat being all he could focus on now that his hunger was partially satiated. Her bossy tone while telling him to go get cleaned up was still very much present in his memory, and just the thought of it could make him go hard in his pants. He knew she could be a force of nature if she so desired, and he had seen a glimpse of that inner fire at the porch, even if they had barely said anything to each other. He could feel her exasperation at their current situation, sure, but he could also feel her anger underneath it all, and he knew there would be no point in denying what had happened, not to her at least. Sansa had no intention of buying whatever was the bullshit excuse his mind might’ve planned to give her and she had made herself very clear by simply standing there with him, her body screaming of relentlessness as she defied his silence.

 

The drive to Arya’s had been silent mainly because Jon had no idea of what to say that wasn’t completely inappropriate for the tone of their relationship. They had never been close, too different while growing up and more different even in adulthood, and he had kept his distance the same way she had, always pretending to be preoccupied with so many other things that seemed so much more important. Had he cared for her during all those years? Yes, but not ever in the same way he had cared for Robb or Arya or even the younger boys. Sansa was something else entirely to him, someone he had never really been able to figure out, and the little he tried had made him feel all sorts of things that he thought better to ignore, for both their sakes. He had always assumed she didn’t want him in her life, and he was more than happy to stay away, content with the closeness he had with the other Starks, pretending that her distance didn't affect him in the slightest, when in truth he held their few moments of kindness towards each other deep within his heart.

 

And now, after so much pretending not to care, she was all he could think about. 

 

He had no idea why, but his body ached for Sansa. She was warmth to his iceness and he needed her, desperately. To be sitting there, next to her, surrounded by her scent, surrounded by her heat, it was a sweet type of torture and he wanted nothing more than to hold her near and feel every inch of her around him. His mind was clearer than it had been at the hospital, his hunger diminished by the cow's meat, and all his senses were focused on Sansa. The way she still shivered slightly even with the heater on, the way her wet hair was now a darker color of red, the way a few strands had been stuck on her bare neck and arms, the way she had looked beautiful in his jacket, surrounded by his own scent like she ought to be, the way he wished it was his arms embracing her, his lips on her soft skin. He kept his hands clenched the entire time, firmly placed on his lap, and he did his best to stare only forward, as to not scare her with the intensity of his desire for her but he could tell that she knew, at least a little, of the effect she had on him. She hadn't seemed upset about it, didn't seem to loathe him or to be disgusted or even terrified. She kept driving, eyes forward, as if they were not making the ride to her witch sister's house to try and find out why he had been caught eating that night's dinner before it was even seasoned.

 

There was also something else about her, something entirely new, and it was not the cigarettes that she'd smoked or the way she had now appeared to be completely aware of him as if they'd always been close. He thought himself stupid for having taking so long to notice, but it was clear to him now that Sansa was using magic in a way he had never seen her do before. If he were to think about it, he had never seen her use magic at all, not even once. She had never taken lessons, much unlike her sister, never practiced spells, never made demonstrations at dinner. He had never seen her with a enchantments book, never seen her use amulets or herbs or nothing of the sort. Arya had teased her about it when they were kids until Catelyn had told her to stop, and since then Sansa and magic were never together in the same sentence. But it was clear to Jon that she was the cause of the ongoing rain, and as they were approaching Arya's apartment, it had only gotten stronger, reflecting the true state of Sansa's mind. It would also explain why her cakes were always the most delicious ones he had ever tasted, or why the old quilt she had once knitted for him as a Christmas present was still in perfect condition, even if it had been years since he had it. She had clearly been using magic all her life, without no one ever realizing, even if she had never learned properly like Arya did, and the way she carried herself in front of him that night showed Jon that she was now more aware of her abilities and of her control over them.

 

They parked outside Arya's building and Sansa turned off the car but made no move to get out. He stayed quiet, waiting, demanding himself to be patient with her, to give her some time to gather her thoughts and react to the unexpected situation. He had noticed that she’d liked being in charge before, much like her mom did, and that had been very clear during their conversation at the porch. That had awaken a feeling inside him, a need to push her just a little, to see if he could persuade her to letting loose, just a bit, just with him, but it seemed unfair, given how desperate she was on helping him with his troubles. He was not yet sure on how she knew something wasn't right, but she did, and he felt like there was no need to pretend while he was around her. She also wasn't hiding anything from him, which was a good thing, for if she were he didn't know if he would've been able to restrain himself from confronting her about it. He sensed fear in her, like he had expected, a little at the porch and some more now, and with her heartbeat quickening in chest the more they stayed silent he decided to at least try to appease her in some way.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

Sansa kept quiet, and Jon turned his head to face her fully, examining her body language for any clues that could help him figure out why they hadn’t moved yet. Of course that meant turning his attention to her body, her very beautiful and warm body, and he was hyperly aware of how potent his arousal was. He hoped, prayed, she couldn’t notice, yet focusing on her body only meant leaving himself more exposed to her heat. He felt engulfed by it, locked inside the small car with her, his body very sensitive to all the imperceptible movements she made, like the rising and falling of her chest when she breathed. He focused on that, on her breathing, letting himself get accustomed by it, trying to will his mind past the desire he felt for her in order to focus on the signs she was unawarely giving him.

 

It wasn’t all instintic. Jon’s new abilities might have made it easier for him to read people, but he was a cop as well, and the things he had learned while serving as a sheriff's deputy were key to his understanding of how Sansa might be feeling. She had a long history of anxiety, that much he knew, and a part of his brain that still had rational thinking tried to reason with him about all that, tried pretending that the only reason why he cared so damn much about her was because of his very annoying yet honorable nature. He had a thing for protecting people, he knew that, specially the ones that couldn’t protect themselves properly. It had gotten him into a lot of trouble at the station, with Sheriff Mormont’s constant complaints about how Jon would get his nose where it didn’t belong, trying to help solve every case he came across, even the ones that weren’t his. His dislikeness for injustice had kept him up at night many times, mad at himself for lacking the power to do more and at the world for it’s cruelness, but this time was different.

 

He knew Sansa could protect herself, she could handle herself just fine, especially now after embracing whatever it was that had kept her from using her magic before. And yet Jon’s need to keep her safe, to make her feel good, was almost overpowering, and her silence was in no way reassuring to him.

 

“Sansa.”

 

It was clear to Jon that the shiver that went through her when he said her name had nothing to do with fear, and that felt good. It felt really good to get such a reaction from her, but she continued to be silent, so he pushed her some more, his urge to understand her more consuming than ever.

 

“Talk to me, Sansa.”

 

His voice was lower than he normally used it, certainly lower than he’d ever used with her, and it surprised him how much it sounded like a command, not a request. He supposed it wasn’t a request at all, he needed Sansa to speak, he needed to hear her voice, needed her to assure him that she was alright, or at least tell him what was wrong so he could do something about it. He heard her low sigh as if it was right next to his ear, his clenched fists tightening as he thought of pressing his thumbs on her shoulders to try and make her relax. Sansa closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the car seat, her pretty pale neck exposed to him, and Jon had to focus all his attention on her breathing to stop his mind from wondering too much on what he’d do if she allowed his mouth anywhere near her soft skin. Just the thought of it made his body react as he imagined himself consumed by her heat, finally free from all the damn cold that surrounded him.

 

She turned her head to him, opening her ocean blue eyes and Jon knew he would happily let himself drown if it meant he could keep looking at her forever.

 

“It’s just, Arya and I, we-” She hesitated, biting her lower lip as if trying to force the words out, the gesture only increasing his wish of claiming her mouth to him. “We haven’t really spoken since Christmas. When I said we were coming here...I guess I didn’t really think this through.”

 

He had remembered the fight earlier and again he wished he had paid more attention. Before all this, before the crash, before the cold and the eating of raw meat, back when they were just kids, Jon had made it his mission not to get in between Arya and Sansa whenever they fought. In truth, he had made it his mission not to get into any of Sansa’s business until he was out of the house, and after that they’d hardly seen each other so it was easier. It was easier not to think of her when she wasn’t around, it was easier not to pretend that Sansa had never really been close to him, not only because her mother disliked him, but because he had wanted to keep things that way. Separate. Robb and Arya felt like his actual siblings, Bran and Rickon would forever be his baby cousins and Sansa was just...Sansa. And she was also  _ Sansa _ , with the beautiful long red hair, the soft pale skin begging to be touched, the pink lips that seemed to hunt his every dream once he’d hit a certain age and by the gods he knew he was so terrible filthy for thinking such thoughts and feeling what he felt and eventually the distance he’d set between them was so big he became convinced there was no coming back from it. Even if his heart seemed ready to jump out of his chest that morning all those years ago when she’d given him the quilt for Secret Santa. Even if it didn’t feel quite like home during all the Sunday lunches she missed after her fight with Arya. He had gotten so used at pretending that now, being close to her like this, it should feel overwhelming, but it didn’t. Not in a bad way, at least. It felt right, like he had always been meant to stand beside her, like she made him feel whole after what he had lost.

 

He wanted to comfort her, to assure her that it would be okay, but he had no idea if that was actually true. Arya was known for her temper and her impulsiveness, something that used to amuse Jon but now it only made him worry about what she might say once she heard the whole story. He closed his eyes, attempting to focus beyond Sansa, out of the car, past the sound and smell of the rain, all the way up to the third floor of the small apartment complex where Arya lived. He found her there, sitting on her couch, watching TV and eating pizza, laughing without a worry in the world, and that helped him decide on his next course of action. Opening his eyes, he caught Sansa still staring at him, waiting to hear something back, a reprimand maybe, for he knew she must think he’d take Arya’s side on this, like he always did, even if he didn’t know what the argument had been about. It was starting to come to him how, in his attempts to distance himself from Sansa, he had also caused a motion of abandonment around her, leaving her isolated not only from him but from the rest of the Starklings as well. It had been unintentional, the same as how his presence had provoked a detachment from Ned to his other children, and yet it was there, clear as day, all over Sansa’s face, in the way she had always locked herself inside while the rest of them played, in the way she barely shared details of her personal life at their family gatherings and especially in the way she was so very wary to simply visit her sister on a Sunday night like that wasn’t a perfectly normal thing to do. Something similar guilt struck him, maybe regret for all the years of pretend, and he chose to move forward, placing his right hand on top of her left, the tips of his fingers gently grazing her covered thigh. The surge of heat was instant, like he had touched a steaming cup of coffee, and he sensed as she got a chill from the coldness of his palm on her. He swallowed, slowly, licking his lips before speaking, making the movement deliberately slow for her to watch like he knew she would. He saw the way her eyes went from his mouth to his eyes in a hurry, and even inside the dark car he noticed the blush that appeared on her cheeks and went down, past her neck and chest, leaving her flustered all over and only serving to make him wonder what else could he do to have her blushing like that for him constantly.

 

“Look, I’m sure it will be fine. You know how Arya is, one minute she’s mad at you like a hungry wolf and in the other she’s nothing more than a silly puppy dying to get your attention. Besides, even if it isn’t fine, I’m here with you. I got your back.”

 

His hand was on fire, the rest of his body was surprislyng warm and he felt so fucking good. Only Sansa could make him feel like that, only her heat could warm the soul of a resurrected man, he knew that deep inside his bones, for yes, he had been resurrected, had he not? He had no idea how, but those three minutes of his stilled heart had changed him in what it seemed like a permanent way, and curiously Sansa was proving to be one of his few sources of relief, certainly the most effective of them all. He wished they could stay in the car, isolated from the world, and he would get even closer and show her all the ways he could grant her some relief as well, and when she breathed out and he felt her warm breath on his face he wished for nothing more than to kiss her right then and there.

 

He did no such thing, simply smiling back at her when the corners of her mouth went up. She turned her hand and squeezed his, surprising him. In the past twenty four hours they had touched more than they did all their lives, and he knew she was just as aware of that as he was. Still, that hadn’t stopped her from moving forward and pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek, her lips burning through him in little waves, making his blood flow faster and his cock twitch in his pants.

 

“Thank you, Jon. Really.” She let go of his hand and turned, reaching for her bag on the back seat and Jon watched as her top lifted slightly, revealing part of the pale skin of her belly. He leaned back and waited for her to resume talking, already missing the warmth of her touch even if they were still just a few inches apart. “Also, it’s not like we don’t have bigger problems to solve, right? You can’t keep on eating mom’s food before she even has a chance to make it properly.”

 

“Does it make it any better if I say it actually tasted good?”

 

“It really doesn’t.”

 

He let out a low chuckle that soon turned into a real laugh once Sansa joined him. He didn’t laugh easily, not because he didn’t have a sense of humor - the boys at the station claimed that he didn’t - but because life seemed less amusing when you dealt with constant crime all day. Being in that car with Sansa, allowing himself to touch her, to speak freely with her, to appreciate the way she was so determined to help him even if she was unaware of how messed up he actually was, it all made him feel like casual laughs like this were more possible than they seemed. Maybe this wasn’t all a bad thing, these new abilities that had changed him completely, and Jon finally started feeling lucky since he’d woken up from his close encounter with death.

 

“Shall we go, then?”

 

“Yes, my lady.”

 

Sansa blushed again and he smiled at her. He hadn’t called her like that in ages, not since they were very little and still played knights and maids on the occasional time she’d actually joined them outside. It had felt right though, to use it again that night, for she was as wonderful as every lady should be, and she was  _ his. _

 

Eyes down, she threw his still damp jacket at him. “Put it on, you’ll catch a cold if you get wetter than you already are, and you just got out of the hospital”

 

“I’m not sure I can catch a cold anymore, Sans.”

 

“Still, put it on.”

 

“But then _you’ll_ get wet.”

 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

 

She said it with a smile, and he knew the image of that smile would be stuck with him for a while, in fact he couldn’t see himself forgetting it any time soon. He watched as she took a deep breath, opening the car door and hurrying out, slamming it shut behind her while she ran as fast as she could, a small laugh leaving her lungs in her attempt to escape from the cold rain. Jon put on the jacket and followed her, choosing a slow pace, unbothered by the cold drops drenching his clothes. His warmth was just a few steps away.

 

And he didn’t plan on letting her out of his sight any time soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the spirit of keeping my end notes heavily personal, I want to apologise for my disappearence.
> 
> I started writing this chapter just after I posted the last one, but life got in the way. I wasn't feeling motivated for writing this story at all and I really didn't want to just write whatever it came to mind because this fic is very important to me. The first chapter of this story was the first chapter of anything I've ever shown anyone. It was also my first time writing for jonsa, a ship that I love most dearly, so every time I upload this story I want to make sure that it's the best that it can be.  
> That being said, every word I write for it had a bigger meaning than it should, and sadly I ended up being caught up on trying to be perfect and write the perfect chapter and it just wasn't working.
> 
> I've mentioned this before, but I struggle with depression. 2019 has been a very hard year on me, mainly because of my mental illness but also because I haven't been booking as many jobs as I usually do (I'm a freelancer right now) and struggling with financial problems gives me a lot of anxiety. I've been waiting to hear on a permanent position for a job that I applied a while ago, so that's been also on my mind. And I recently started grad school, which was a dream of mine for a while now, and paying for it as well as actually attending classes have been making me feel a little bit delusional to be completely honest.
> 
> So yeah, in these past two months I just didn't feel like I could give this story the proper attention that it needed.
> 
> This chapter was written very slowly, and although I think it's not my best, I'm not sad about it either. I like the way I wrote Jon here, and I hope you guys liked it too.  
> Also, some good news: I actually took some time to sit down and write the outline of this story. So I already know what will happen when, and how many chapters it's gonna have and everything is mapped out. Which is great because all I have to do now is write, but it's also sad because all I have to do now it write.
> 
> I wish I could tell y'all that we'd get to the end before the year is over but I'm in no place to be making such promises. All I can do is ask you all for some patience with me, because I have every intention of finishing this fic. This story is my baby, it has helped me grow so much as a writer and it has also been a source of comfort during some really hard times that I've endured this year. I've read through every single one of your comments at least three times and I'm so grateful for every one you. Thank you for always being so kind and for engaging in the story and telling me about your theories (even if I know it's pretty obvious what will eventually happen). You are my light and you keep me going.  
> As always, this fic is unbetaed and English is not my first language, so I deeply apologize for any mistakes you might have found.
> 
> I hope you have enjoyed this chapter, please let me know what you thought about it, I would really appreciate that.
> 
> I'm @sansaravenclaw on Tumblr and i've recently deactivated my old twitter account and moved on to @ninacrows, so if you ever wanna chat you can find me in one of those places.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope to be coming back with a new chapter soon!  
> Xxxxxxx


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